


Helen Potter and the Goblet of Fire

by Kamil_the_Awesome



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Twins, Black Hermione Granger, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Book 5: The Last Olympian (Percy Jackson), Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Demigod Dumbledore, Demigod Female Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, F/M, Implied Gay Colin Creevey, M/M, Magical/Demigod WW2 Discussion, Ollivander is Ollivander, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Percy Weasley isn't Boring, Potter Twins, Prophecy, Rita Skeeter's Parents Get a Mention, Snape is Extra, Triwizard Tournament, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 16:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 29,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17811530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamil_the_Awesome/pseuds/Kamil_the_Awesome
Summary: When a fourth name emerges from the Goblet of Fire, it is not Harry Potter who is thrust into the Triwizard Tournament. Instead, it is his long-missing twin, Helen. She comes to Hogwarts to compete, and with her comes a magical world—and legacy—unknown to her brother. For Helen is more than just his twin—she is a half-blood.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> What started as a simple idea for a nice sized one shot ballooned into a multi-chapter story. Big thanks to my beta/editor Carmel, who provided guidance to shape this story into its best possible form.
> 
> Assume regular canon for the Harry Potter and Percy Jackson series unless otherwise stated, including dates and years.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts rumbled with a rare excitement, even for November and the traditional start of the Quidditch season. Harry Potter felt as if he was at the eye of the storm and it wasn’t because of the lightning bolt scar upon his forehead. It was because his twin sister, long thought missing, was finally coming to Hogwarts. A few days ago, he had been so caught up in the excitement for the Tournament and the arrival of the foreign students that she had slipped his mind. It was odd, he would admit to Ron and Hermione, given that he often thought of her ever since Hagrid had revealed her existence to him all of those years ago in that hut out at sea. Helen Alexandra Potter had been delivered to the Dursley’s with him in the aftermath of their parent’s murder, yet at some point in the night she had vanished. Now he would finally get to meet her, to know that she was more than words on a page and a few pictures of giggling babies.

_Just wish it weren’t because of this bloody tournament. Would she even have to participate if she was at Hogwarts?_ The school, along with their guests from the continental schools of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, had been shocked when a fourth name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire on Halloween. Harry had tensed, a terrible expectation at the back of his mind, ready to stand. Be it troll, snake, or godfather, his year at Hogwarts was defined by an event on Halloween. He suspected it had to do with Voldemort murdering his parents on that day, though it could be a coincidence. Instead, Dumbledore had stared at the slip in his hand for several seconds, as if it answered a dozen questions. Eventually, Professor McGonagall got his attention and he softly announced, “I never thought I would say this name again.

“ _Helen_ Potter.”

Today was the Third of November and Helen had arrived in the country that morning. It was a tremendous shock for Wizarding Britain, learning she had arrived by ‘aereoplanee’ and was accompanied by five girls, most of who appeared to be younger than her. Only one, identified in the article as ‘Zoë Nightshade,’ appeared to be an adult. Harry had debated with Hermione and Ron whether the girl’s name was right, given _The_ _Daily Prophet_ had a habit of misnaming people without serious influence in Britain.

“Oh, it probably is,” Hermione had said, frowning at Ron’s snort. “American witches and wizards have unusual names, even compared to here.”

“Buff daf naw trew,” Ron protested. Hermione turned to Harry, frowning. The Twins had slipped him…something at lunch.

“Ron said, ‘but that’s not true.’” He glanced at his best friend, and with a smirk, added, “Honestly, I thought the same reading through _A History of Magic_ before coming to school.”

It was the wrong thing to say then, for Hermione had begun a tirade about, “Why didn’t you keep reading your books,” and “You have such potential Harry, I don’t understand why you seem to waste it.”

He headed off a lecture, but the frown Hermione shot Harry promised the conversation wasn’t finished. As they waited, the gossip and chatter grew louder. Ron, his tongue finally unstuck, had begun to grumble about the lack of food when the doors opened with a loud groan.

The woman from the _Prophet_ , Zoë, entered. Unlike the parka from the photo, she was dressed in silver Greek armor, a fine black cloak flowing from her shoulders, and a glimmering helmet in hand. The plume, silver and blue, was sideways compared to the images Harry had seen. The cloak was pinned together by a silver crescent moon upon her left shoulder, thin chains slipping into several spots across the cloak around her neck. A sheathed sword hung from one hip while a full quiver and bow hung from the opposite shoulder. She approached the Head Table and stopped a few paces away, sandaled feet clicking like leather boots. The Hall remained quiet, beyond the odd whisper.

“Presenting Helen Alexandra Potter and her attendants, Kassandra Shatter-Spear, Johanna of the Loire, Rhanis Oceaea, and her distant… _cousin_ Phoebe.” Zoë glanced back, frowning as if there was more she wished to say, but turned away at the sign of movement. Harry frowned at the last name and her description. _Do I have another cousin? She can’t be worse than Dudley, especially since Helen must trust her._ His heart ached at the thought.

Five girls entered the Great Hall. Four surrounded a single girl, an inch or so taller than the rest. They were dressed much like Zoë, except they wore their plume-less helmets. At the center had to be Helen, who was garbed in a white dress that glowed as the clouds on the ceiling parted to reveal the moon. A tiara of silver and sapphires rested lightly upon her brow. If Harry hadn’t known this was his sister, he would’ve wondered if the magical world hid gods and goddesses. Her hair was an auburn compared to their mother’s bright red and where his skin was more pasty than pale, she was a fine olive color darkened by long hours under the sun and sky. Her gaze took in the Hall and when their eyes met, there was a split moment where he thought her eyes were the same as Malfoy’s. Yet what he first thought was a slate grey was really silver. _Patronus_ silver.

Her party stopped before the Head Table, where the teachers and visiting headmasters all sat. Zoë filed into their group, standing a couple feet before Helen. Dumbledore stood once they stopped and smiled in that grandfather nature that endeared him to Harry.

“Welcome to Hogwarts, dear Helen. We were surprised by your, shall we say, failure to arrive with your brother three years ago.”

“Forgive our lady,” Zoë began, but a hand tapped her shoulder and she stopped.

Helen came forward, smooth like a swan. Girls across the Hall seethed at the effortless display of grace. “If you wish for an explanation of where I have been these many years, Zoë and I can speak with you in your office. Oh, and my brother too, _Headmaster_. He has a right to know. More than you, frankly, but you are well known across the pond.” She paused to look back at the five with her. “We have been traveling most of the past couple days and we have arrived most famished.”

“I am most curious about where you have been, so I will take up your offer to speak later,” Dumbledore said, acting as if she hadn’t suggested anything negative of his character. “We were waiting for your arrival before we had dinner. I believe you will find someone of interest at the Gryffindor table.” With that, he clapped his hands and the many golden plates covering the tables filled with food aplenty.

Harry did his best to ignore Ron as he filled his plate with a dozen different types of fried meat and vegetables. Hermione’s nose twitched at the sight, but they were pulled away by a pleasant arrival.

“Hello brother,” Helen said, appearing behind Harry. Some of the girls were beside her while the others stood near Hermione, eyeing the nearby boys with distrust. Their armor and weapons had morphed into the silver parkas they wore when arriving in Britain. _She must have a talent for transfiguration to change them so quickly._ “My sisters and I would love to join you. Well, me more than them.”

Harry nodded— _Sisters?_ He wondered. _How is that?_ —And people shifted all down the Gryffindor table to provide the girls with a spot to sit. Most seemed nervous, but Helen was clearly enjoying herself as she sat. Now that she was close, he could there was so much of her appearance he hadn’t seen. Her tiara had appeared to be plain silver beyond the grouping of sapphires upon her brow, but now he could see fine writing along the edges, all of it in what he thought was some dialect of Greek. It looked vaguely familiar with something he had spotted in Hermione’s Ancient Runes book a couple weeks ago. _The sapphires are going to drive me mad. They look so familiar. From Astronomy? I don’t think they’re also from Ancient Ruins…_

“I bet you’ve been wondering where I’ve been, little brother,” Helen said, filling her plate. He nodded. “You should’ve guessed from the little speech I gave that I live in America, not here in jolly ol’ Britain. Never received a letter from Hogwarts, but Ilvermorny tried pretty hard to get me to attend their school. MACUSA doesn’t enjoy the fact they have to share America with another magical, uh, government so to say, but we”—she gestured to herself and the other girls—“are under the aegis of that other government. I did consider Ilvermorny, but mother decided that since she knew the Lady of the Crossroads herself, having me attend a magic school was unnecessary.”

“Why would this, uh, Lady of the Crossroads be better than a school?” Hermione asked, frowning. She leaned in. “What’s her name? You can’t mean—”

Helen glared at Hermione, quieting the girl. Harry was baffled, wondering, _how?_ She turned to her brother. “Is she always this inquisitive?”

“I think she’s learned some manners. She was terribly brash with her knowledge as first years.” Harry glanced at Hermione and with an amused grin added, “I think she’s read the entire library and we aren’t even halfway through our education. You should be careful about what you say or she’ll figure everything out from a few words.”

Hermione flushed and those near them grinned and giggled. Helen’s party smiled, more to fit in than understanding the joke.

“We have been rude,” Zoë said, focused on Hermione. “I am Zoë. This is Rhanis, Phoebe, Kassandra, and Johanna.” She gestured to each girl in turn, who nodded. “We…serve Helen’s mother in America. Thou reminds me much of her sister and her children.”

She nodded. “I’m Hermione. You all seem to know Harry and this,” she said, pointing, “is Ron. Unfortunately, he has the most abhorrent table manners.”

“That was clear enough,” said Rhanis, her plate empty. “It’s enough for even a cyclopsi to lose their appetite.” The other girls nodded and Harry wondered if the one-eyed monster of mythology existed in America.

_We did encounter a Cerberus going after the Philosopher’s Stone, so they might be real. We even put Fluffy to sleep with music, like Orpheus._

“I must ask,” Kassandra began, focused on Hermione like the others. “Are you named for _the_ Hermione, daughter of Helen of Troy?”

As Hermione began to engage the other girls, Harry turned to Helen. “They seem nice.”

She grinned. “The best. I’ve been around them nearly my entire life. Rhanis was one of the first to join my mother and Zoë was expelled from her home by her sisters because she helped the wrong man.” Helen paused, a sad look crossing her eyes. “Most of them don’t have the best histories, especially with men. Mother sent them with me for protection, though they’re more here to keep me company. You may get a pass from them being my brother, like how my uncle can come and go without being turned into jackalopes like mor—uh, muggle boys and men.”

As their conversation shifted into more casual topics, Harry couldn’t help but wonder just who this ‘mother’ his sister spoke of. Maybe that could explain the other girl with auburn hair and silver eyes he had seen in the Mirror of Erised.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to add this in the note for Chapter One, but this story will be regularly updated every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday until everything is posted.

Helen had long wondered why Hecate waxed poetic about Hogwarts. The castle, while impressive sounding, was just that: a castle. Yet it was entering the Great Hall and seeing the night sky imposed upon the ceiling that convinced her that perhaps the Goddess of Magic had a point when declaring it her fourth most favorite place in the world. While the other four Hunters had departed to prepare their campsite upon the grounds, she followed Zoë, Harry, and Headmaster Dumbledore to his office, discussing their housing arrangements. The old man was put off by their persistence in camping outside. They stopped before a huge gargoyle where the old man said, “Everlasting gobstoppers.”

_Mortal candy? How odd._ It moved and they continued up the spiral staircase and into the Headmaster’s office.

“I wish you would take advantage of our hospitality in its full,” Dumbledore said as he slid into his impressive hickory and ash chair. A hundred or so portraits hung behind him, displaying the historic and infamous bunch that’d headed the school in the centuries before him. “As fine as your tents may be, I doubt it beats sleeping in warm chambers.”

“Thank you again for the offer, but we prefer to sleep beneath the open sky and the moon,” Helen said. “Our tents are…enchanted to push away the elements. It all washes away under the light of the moon.”

The Headmaster nodded, frowning slightly. She suspected he was already puzzling out why she had been absent so long. “Well then, let’s start from the beginning. What became of you after your parent’s death?”

Helen glanced at Zoë. The older girl sighed and turned to the Headmaster with a frown. _I do hope she gets over it. Not every man is like him._ “I was with her… mother that night in November when she sensed her daughter, injured and cold. We traveled to this island and took her away.”

“Our mother is dead, yet you claimed she took you away. I want to know why you left me,” Harry demanded, a bubbling fury rising in his voice.

Zoë scowled. “Thou would have no place amongst the Hunt.”

Helen sighed as both Harry and Dumbledore frowned at her companion’s words. _Well, word, I suspect. No matter what we do, she can’t seem to pick up ‘you.’ I imagine it is the fault of Shakespeare and his work. They do say he wrote most of A Midsummer Night’s Eve thanks to his…experience with the Hunt._

“Why not?” Harry’s fury sounded closer to the surface and Helen could feel hints of power pulse from him. A few objects in the office shook and several paintings awoke, frowning through their sleepiness.

“That has to do with _my_ mother’s identity,” Helen cut in. “I do not speak of our shared mother, Lily Potter, but the one only I have. This will sound like a lie, but you must trust I tell you the truth. I would swear I tell the truth by the River Styx, if I must. My mother—and mine alone—is Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt, the Wilderness, the Moon, Archery (“along with _Apollo_ ,” Zoë muttered in a whispered tone that suggested she’d heard the correction too many times), Childbirth, and Virginity. She is the protector of maidens. Men, no matter their age or relation, have no business being amongst those she protects.”

Harry blinked and much of his anger faded as he crossed his arms. _I hope you do not resent us._ “Wait, so how are you her daughter yet we’re twins? I know that Artemis is a virgin goddess.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be born,” Helen admitted and the office cooled. “If events occurred the way they were meant, the cells that became me would’ve been absorbed by you in Lily’s womb. Lady Artemis interfered, sowing some of her essence into me so I could form separate and unique. I imagine there was a purpose to her actions, one I cannot say to know. While technically against the Ancient Laws, Lord Zeus never punished her for what she did so I would be born. I think instead he added a decade or two to Mr. D’s punishment at Camp Half-Blood.” She glanced at Zoë and they shared a soft, knowing smile. There was a brief frown from Harry and a spark of realization in the Headmaster’s twinkling eyes, but they ignored it. “I think she got tired of being lumped in with Hera when it comes to not having demigods. There’s a place for them, though most descend from some of the Olympians and a few of the minor gods.”

Dumbledore nodded, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. He briefly offered one to the others, but they all declined. Helen thought Harry would say yes, but he turned away the candy all the same. “I never would’ve guessed you were a demigoddess, my dear. You must be very powerful, mixing not only our magic but also the power of the firstborn demigod of an Olympian. If I had suspected what Lily did, I would have reached out to Chiron, Lupa, and my mother to track you down.” His eyes twinkled brighter as Helen’s eyes widened. “You probably guessed I’m a child of Hecate, but you’re only half right. I never did have a head for Ancient Greek.”

“Roman.” Helen scowled something fierce, crossing her arms. “Your mother is Trivia, her lesser aspect. The one I’ve never met, so I don’t know how much it would help you. Did you ever go to Camp Jupiter?”

Dumbledore shook his head. “It is rare for demigods born outside of America to reach the camps, even when I was born. Not enough monsters make the trek to Britain when easy pickings are available in America, even if it is so close to Olympus. Those who remained when the Heart of the West left were hunted to the last and never bothered to return here once their killers perished. However, there’s something else more pressing on my mind.

“How did you name get into the Goblet of Fire?”

“I do not know, sir. Voldemort may have spies here. That’s what I would do.” Helen paused and turned to a suddenly giggling Zoë. “I just haiku’d, didn’t I.”

“Thy uncle will be most pleased,” Zoë said, failing in her efforts to not snort. “The girls will be amused, Phoebe most so.”

Harry gasped as if he was finally figuring out what was happening around him. “Your uncle…you mean Apollo?” His voice dropped and he mumbled, “The God of Poetry likes haikus?”

“Thou is well educated in the gods,” Zoë said, almost impressed.

“And then you and the other girls, are you also from, uh, mythology?” Harry asked. “Like, are some of you nymphs and dryads?” He noticed Helen’s smile and flushed. “I just liked reading Greek Mythology as a kid, that’s all. My…guardians don’t like magic or _pagan_ stories.”

_Thank Athena he has an interest in the stories. A shame, though, that those he lives with hate those tales. That should be enough to pacify mother should I insist on visiting him in the future. I wonder if I can introduce them one day. She is not one to deal with men, but perhaps she will do that for me._

“Rhanis is the last of the sixty Oceanids that joined my mother upon request from Zeus,” Helen said, beaming. “Kassandra and Phoebe are both demigods, like me. Kassandra is a daughter of Enyo, Ares’ sister, while Phoebe is a daughter of Apollo as I hope you could’ve guessed. He always speaks with her during his unnecessary visits to the Hunt. Johanna is strange among the Hunt, for she was born a mortal over two hundred years ago—a third cousin of Voltaire, if I’m not mistaken and named for the rumored woman pope or Jeanne d’Arc, I never remember—and Zoë, well…”

“I was once one of the Hesperides, but when I helped Heracles steal a golden apple, I was expelled from my home.” She turned to Harry before he could speak and added, “I am not one of the four mentioned in ‘myths’. I was erased for my crime.”

Harry nodded before turning to Helen. “You mentioned a Camp Half-Blood. Does that include halfblood witches and wizards?”

She shook her head. “Half-blood is just another word for demigod in the Greek world. You should know that all magicals with godly heritage are considered halfbloods, even if they should be pureblood or muggleborn.”

Helen then turned to Dumbledore. “If that’s all, I wish to rejoin my companions. I do not know when I will next appear in the castle. We will need to find some proper hunting grounds in your forest, if only to keep busy. Is there anything of note?”

“Speak with Hagrid,” Dumbledore said with a slight frown. “He knows the Forbidden Forest best, though I will say to be mindful of the centaurs. They are much different from their American brethren. Likely why they remained when Olympus crossed the Atlantic, though Merlin wrote in the 12th Century that—”

“Thank you, Headmaster.” Helen turned to Harry, who gaped at her for cutting Dumbledore off. “Good night, brother. I will send word when we shall next speak. My companions are bound to come and go from the castle more often than I, so have Hermione send word through them to be safe. They are like to ignore you. Or worse.”

Harry gulped but made sure to wish her a good night before she departed, Zoë following.

“This should be fun, don’t you think dear Zoë?” Helen asked. The older girl only shook her head with a long, draining sigh.


	3. III

Hermione pestered Harry to let her borrow Hedwig first thing the next morning. She had written a letter to send home that night, begging for her several books on Greek Mythology to be sent to Hogwarts. She included references to Artemis when speaking of Helen’s arrival and included a question about which Hermione she was named for. She always assumed it was for the one from Shakespeare’s _The Winter’s Tale_ , her favorite play of the Bard’s. Her parents had first bonded over Shakespeare, though having a play other than _Othello_ as their favorite had been viewed as odd then. Her father, Daniel, was the son of two Nigerian immigrants sponsored by the elderly Granger couple Hermione viewed as grandparents. Her mother’s family had fled the new nation of Zimbabwe when the last Rhodesian government was dismantled. She was always quiet about why they left, though Hermione had her suspicions.

When they finally reached the Great Hall to join Ron and Neville for breakfast, she was surprised by the presence of Helen’s companions. She’d spoken with them all the previous night, so it was child’s play to spot them at the four tables. Rhanis had joined several girls at the Hufflepuff table, passing out a bundle of pamphlets that appeared to be reaching the surrounding tables. Kassandra had decided to befriend Millicent Bulstrode, though she supposed the large Slytherin girl would resemble a child of Ares. Johanna was with the Beauxbatons delegation at the Ravenclaw table, loudly speaking a French dialect that Hermione, even with her family vacations, was unfamiliar with. And last were Zoë and Phoebe, both at the Gryffindor table. It appeared they were arguing with Lavender Brown. _There’s only one topic they can be arguing about._

“There thou are,” Zoë said as Hermione sat down. The girls continued to ignore the boys, even though they gave Harry a brief, polite nod. She suspected Helen had said something about it the previous night, for they had ignored him at dinner the previous night. “I have something for thee. They did not appreciate it.”

Hermione took the pamphlet, which she appeared to be a recruiting and promotional document for the Hunters. Harry had told her the full truth about Helen and as absurd as it sounded, with the Greek gods being real and all, it made more sense than any of the other three-dozen theories floating around the common room. She paused as a thought struck her. _Didn’t that odd Ravenclaw girl once tell Harry his sister was with the moon? It wasn’t until Rome that Artemis was made Goddess of the Moon, but she was associated with it long before. Maybe Luna Lovegood isn’t so, well, Loony as everyone says. I wonder what else she has to say…_

“This is, uh, nice, though I wouldn’t wish to join until I finished my NEWTs,” Hermione said. She flicked through the rest, smiling at the images of girls running through the woods and practicing archery. There was a nice splash image inside of a band of thirty or so sitting on the body of a manticore right as it faded into gold dust.

“It’s utterly silly,” Lavender said with a scoff. “I mean, who’d want a ‘Boy free future?’ Sounds dreadful. Immortality without them would be so _bland_.”

Phoebe snorted, grinning as if told a familiar joke. “You say that now, but when they fail your expectations and betray you, you will wish you had listened to us.”

Lavender appeared to be personally offended. Hermione noticed that several boys nearby were frowning as if they were directly insulted. “Would you even say the same of your father?”

“He is an obnoxious oaf at best,” Phoebe said waving her hand, though her tone was more amused than condescending. “He’s nothing like his father or his most famous half brother, but they’re a special brand of terrible. Even Lady Helen is aware of how terrible they can be. She has suffered terribly at their hands, be it the monster who butchered her mortal parents or your Headmaster.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, frowning.

Harry added, “Dumbledore is a great man.” He sounded doubtful to Hermione. _Strange. I’ll need to ask him about it. He was evasive about his meeting with Professor Dumbledore last night…_

“I saw the state he left thy in when we recovered thy sister,” Zoë said, scowling. She stabbed her bangers, popping one apart. “It was November and the early hours of the morning. Thou were left on a porch like bottles of milk.”

Harry frowned, wanting to protest. Hermione knew her best friend admired the Headmaster and knowing he had done something so unethical would eat at him all day. She decided it would be best to change topics.

“Where are you camped at? We are…very familiar with the school grounds.”

Phoebe smiled. “Unless you can become invisible, there will be no sneaking up on us. We have picked a nice spot just inside the forest, though calling it ‘forbidden’ is asking for trouble. We met with the local centaurs. Odd sort, but they told us of a curious prey. What can you tell us of acromantula?”

Hermione let Harry recount the story of him and Ron wandering into their nest as second years, including their escape thanks to the feral Ford Angelia that still haunted the Forbidden Forest. The girls, after talking about how one of the gigantic spiders would be excellent for giving those “haughty children of that smart wench a right scare”—that they would speak of _Athena_ , Hermione’s favorite Olympian, like that was a shock—had pressed for more and he ended up sharing most of the story surrounding the Chamber of Secrets, including the monster within. Harry did skirt around the fact he owned an invisibility cloak.

“A feat worthy of a hero,” Zoë said, nodding as if that was the best story she’d ever heard. “Slaying an ancient beast and a basilisk drakon too, saving a fair maiden, and wielding a magical weapon. There will be a place for thee in Elysium, Harry Potter.”

“If you were like your sister, Hecate would want you as her champion,” Phoebe added, almost warmly. “I say we sacrifice what remains of its corpse to Lady Artemis. She will appreciate the gift, aid Helen in convincing our Lady to let you visit her, and may even endear you to Lady Artemis.” _And us_ went unspoken. Hermione was confident that the two girls only spoke with Harry to appease Helen, which spoke to the power and command the girl wielded. It would increase with the Tournament, whatever the tasks ahead were. _Oh, the tournament! I can’t believe I forgot!_

“Have they spoken to Helen about the Tournament? I heard that the First Task is on the 24th.”

“Not a word,” Phoebe said as if it was to be expected. Hermione wasn’t pleased with how overconfident the Hunters were. “She’s not worried though. Unless Python himself makes an appearance, everything should be smooth sailing. She may try to smuggle in her bow and quiver, but that’s easy.”

“You really think smuggling magic weapons is easy?” asked Ron. Hermione didn’t think he had spoken to Helen or her companions, though they had all frowned and moved away upon seeing his table manners during dinner. “The Ministry is bound to have tight security, especially after the World Cup fiasco.”

“What do magicals have to do with football?” Zoë asked, frowning. “I thought it a mort- uh, muggle sport.”

“He means Quidditch, not football,” Hermione said before Ron could go off. She also noticed that Dean had heard the elder girl mention his favorite sport and she had a feeling it would turn out bad for him. “There was a sighting of the Dark Mark there during a riot where Death Eaters tortured muggles.”

The two Hunters glanced at each other and shrugged. “We are unfamiliar with these terms. We have larger problems.”

“Like cyclopsi?” Harry asked. “I know Hagrid owns a Cerberus, but – ”

“He does?” Phoebe looked disturbed by the idea of someone owning one of the huge, three-headed dogs. She had felt similarly back then, but it passed as they got sucked into the mystery of the Stone and she’d just let it slide as one of those odd things of being magical. Muggles owned exotic animals like tigers and deadly snakes, so it wasn’t too strange. “I heard Greek magicals bred some at the height of the Byzantines, but that was long ago. They should’ve been extinct by now, vicious creatures the lot.”

“I wouldn’t tell him that,” Harry said. “He named it Fluffy.”

Phoebe blinked while Zoë pinched her arm. Once both girls came to the realization Harry had spoken true, they burst out laughing. It was a high, boisterous sound lacking in any fear. “Fluffy?” Phoebe asked through chuckling gasps. “You have to be joking. I would never believe a hellhound would answer to a name even similar to that.”

“I’m serious,” Harry said. Hermione noticed an odd look pass over his face and she guessed he had remembered his godfather, who had made that terrible pun in a letter over the summer. _Is Helen aware of his innocence?_

“Excuse me,” came a clear, polite voice. The Hunters turned to face Daphne Greengrass, face icy as she stood there in her emerald and silver lined robes. Hermione was aware of the girl’s reputation, especially that of an ice queen who either ignored or blew off the interest of any boy daring enough to speak with her. She had hexed Seamus into a week in the Hospital Wing during the final Hogsmeade visit last year. The façade fell away and she suddenly appeared uncertain, as if coming to talk with them was the most dangerous thing she’d ever done. Her left hand rose and clenched in it was a copy of their pamphlet. “Is…is this real? Or is this a joke?”

“Do thee wish to join?” Zoë asked, letting her voice carry across the Great Hall. Curious eyes turned towards them.

The girl steeled herself. “Yes,” Daphne said, head nodding with her words. “My father has…plans for my life. Unacceptable plans and I cannot wait to flee for a safe haven. Will you accept me as one of your own?”

Zoë stood, laying a hand on Daphne’s shoulder. “We shall take thou before Helen. She has been blessed to grant her mother’s gift while here.” She then turned to Phoebe. “Speak with the other girls and gather any interested in joining the Hunt. Helen will wish to work Lady Artemis’ blessing in a single day.”

Phoebe stood, heading for the Ravenclaw table where Johanna sat with the French delegation. Hermione watched the Great Hall, ignoring the confusion at the Gryffindor table as slowly yet surely, some two-dozen girls were gathered and taken out onto the grounds, to speak with Helen and become an immortal as one of Artemis’ Hunters.


	4. IV

The other Champions were already gathered when Helen arrived for the Wand Weighing Ceremony. In the days since her arrival, thirty-nine Hogwarts students, two Beauxbatons girls, and the only girl from Durmstrang had come before her and sworn the vow all Hunters swore to Lady Artemis. It had been strange, having her mother’s gift to bless maidens with immortality flow through her. Of them, Daphne Greengrass ascended to a position of leadership among them. She had been the first, approaching Zoë herself and took the vows without question or hesitation. While the seven former Gryffindors chaffed at taking orders from a Slytherin, she was stringing together a strong sense of unity and Helen hoped when departed the school, they would all see each other as sisters. _They will be proper Hunters, more than ready to meet mother._

“Ah, there’s our final champion,” said a burly man who was clearly gaining weight. He reminded her of the bumblebee her mother had created from a drunk mortal who’d stumbled upon them, naked and delirious, in South Dakota. “I believe we can star—”

“Oh, Ludo, could I speak with her first?” asked a thin blonde with ugly glasses and a poisonous voice. Helen’s fingers twitched for her wand. “I am writing the piece for _The_ _Daily Prophet_ and I would be remiss to speak with the youngest Champion about her…return home.” She then shot Ludo—the burly man—a pleasing smile more fitting upon the Furies than a mortal. _There is no mist around her, so she is no monster. However…_

“If you wish to interview me, I would prefer to do so once the ceremony is over,” Helen said, forcing a sweet smile onto her face. “I doubt the others would like to continue waiting. Surely, you’ve already spoken with them.”

The woman pursed her lips, which swiftly became an amused smirk. “Of course, forgive me. Oh, where are my manners.” She walked over, heels clicking on the stone floor and held out a hand. Her nails looked primed to maim, even with teal and silver paint on them. “Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent.”

Helen tensed at the name, though she shook the hand before her as if the name didn’t set her on edge. There had been a terrible uproar decades ago when it was revealed that Hermes had sired a child with Circe, the witch exiled to Aiaia for turning the mortal Glaucus into a god and the nymph Scylla into one of the most infamous monsters of the Greek world. The child turned out to be a girl, so Zeus let her live as long as she was kept unaware of her divine heritage. Hecate, as a favor for Circe, hid the child among her magicals. Only the name given to the child was known, thanks to who Helen now suspected was Dumbledore. _Of all people to meet, it would be her._

“A pleasure, Ms. Skeeter. Your work is…known in America.” She ignored that, at least in America, Rita alone had turned the British press into a laughing stock. The few American magicals she had met considered the _Prophet_ to be little more than a propaganda paper with a gossip writer at the helm. Mortal gossip rags were viewed with more legitimacy as a source of news than the magical British paper. Even Lovegood and _The_ _Quibbler_ —and wasn’t that a grand surprise, Luna Lovegood coming to join before being claimed by Apollo as if they were at Camp Half-Blood—was well regarded compared to the _Prophet_.

Rita smiled. It unnerved Helen.

“If we may,” Dumbledore cut in and Helen was thankful for the interruption. He held out a hand and a curious old man came forward. He was lanky with bushy eyebrows hiding piercing eyes. If he weren’t 150 years old, Helen would suspect he was an immortal instead. “This is Mister Garrick Ollivander, the best wandcrafter in Britain. He will be weighing your wands to ensure they work properly for the Tournament.”

Helen watched as Ollivander made his way through the other Champions. Fleur Delacour, the Champion of Beauxbatons, had a wand with Veela hair—“my grandmother’s,” she had proudly declared—for its core. She had heard of the Veela, for it was said they descended from a child Hephaestus had with a siren. Victor Krum, Champion of Durmstrang and Seeker of the Hungarian National Quidditch Team, was unimpressive. Helen had first through he may be a Legacy of Ares, but the boy showed none of the violence or cunning those children were rumored to have generations separated from their godly progenitor. He still wasn’t pleasing to look upon, especially since she just couldn’t figure out how many times his nose had been broken. After that, Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts’ Champion and a Hufflepuff, handed his wand to Ollivander. He admitted to polishing his wand—the only one made by Ollivander, it turned out—daily, which created a rolling giggle across the room.

Ollivander turned to her and she hissed low in her throat as his blue eyes found her silver ones. She felt as if every secret she bore was his to peruse at his leisure. “Our final champion, Helen Potter.” He paused and frowned. “Or perhaps it is Helen Khryselakatos now. I confess myself disappointed when you failed to arrive with your brother three years ago to receive your wand. His was most curious—holly and phoenix feather. Most curious indeed…but what about yours?” He held out a wrinkled hand and she handed over the pale wand Hecate had made as a birthday gift years ago.

“Ah, white poplar and powdered horn from a—” He looked away from the wand and to her. A chill ran down her spine. “I wonder who made this wand. Few would dare approach a Cerynitis for a purpose like this. And the craftsmanship… It feels more powerful than any wand I have ever crafted.” A ripple of whispers pulsed through the room. He gave the wand a flick and a silver mist appeared. It pulsed, trying to take shape, but faded before it could. “Extraordinarily loyal. This is a wand that shall not change its allegiance. You may just overshadow your brother, Lady Helen.”

Ollivander returned the wand. He shot her a final curious look and then departed. The four champions were then forced to stand in various poses and formations as Rita Skeeter and her cameraman argued with press members from France and Bulgaria. Others from across Europe and a vaguely familiar face from America stood back, amusedly watching the bickering. One of them approached the French cameraman and handed over a small pouch. _Paying for a copy of their photos. Smart. And, I would suspect, easier than taking a photo._ Eventually, they all shot a picture of Krum sitting in a simple chair of oak with Cedric behind him and the girls on each side.

Helen tried to slip away once they finished, but Rita’s eyes had been tightly focused upon her the entire time. “Come, dear Helen. Time for that interview you promised before the old goat interrupted me.” She was then dragged out of the chamber and into a nearby broom closet before she could protest. Skeeter sealed the door behind them. “Don’t need anyone barging in. I don’t mind them listening, though.” She smiled—a conspiratorial look. “They will hear what they wish. So, where to begin with you…”

“I suspect you wish to know where I went after _that_ Halloween?” Helen asked, seizing what initiative she could.

“You’re sharper than I thought,” Rita said, drawing a parchment pad and quill from her purse. “Do you mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill?” Helen tried to answer but was cut off. “Good. So, please tell me—and my lovely readers all desperate to know—where have you been these long, long years?”

Helen frowned but decided to go with the momentum. _I wonder what she will write… I have heard about Quick-Quotes Quills and I cannot remember a single good word about them._ “America, as you surely know by now. My mom, Lily, used a ritual to ensure I was born as hale and healthy as Harry. She was aware if nature ran its course, she would have no daughter to match her son.” It was the same story Artemis had told her when she had been seven and learned about James and Lily Potter and how her twin brother, Harry, was called the Boy-Who-Lived. She would have to pass over the fact mom performed a ritual was illegal and considered dark within Britain, punishable with the Dementor’s Kiss. _Many over here revere mom, after all._ “The ritual, in part, was responsible for my disappearance to America.”

Rita nodded as her quill scratched away, writing much more than what Helen said and likely nothing resembling her words. She watched it with narrow eyes.

“What do you know about this ritual? It would be of great benefit to us, having means by which to increase our terribly low birthrate.”

“I’m aware that the blood politics of Britain has it leading the magical world for birth defects, squib births, and, as you mentioned, low birth rates. Even magical societies in regions with widespread incestual practices are better at mixing in new blood than Britain. My mother does not have the power to correct those problems.”

“Mother?” Rita asked. A feline grin sprung upon her face. “Could you expand upon that?”

Helen grimaced. _Tartarus take you, Skeeter._ “The ritual summoned a…power that raised me as…her own.”

Rita nodded and Helen had a feeling the Quick-Quotes Quill was writing something completely different. It was positioned so she couldn’t read the pad, but the scratching heavily suggested that the article was being written here and now. “And what about the odd pamphlet those girls who came with you have been handing out? Several parents are worried you’re drawing their children into a cult. I know Lord Greengrass is most furious you’ve taken his daughter.”

“Lord Greengrass has driven _Daphne_ away well enough on his own.” Helen crossed her arms. “If you want to know more, get a pamphlet yourself. There’s surely enough floating around you can find one before the Headmaster bars you from the castle.”

Before Rita could continue, Dumbledore opened the closet door. “Miss Potter is correct,” he said, eyes twinkling. _Thank Trivia for small mercies._ “I believe it is time for you to leave, Miss Skeeter. I may speak with Barnabas Cuffe about sending a different reporter. Dependent upon your article, of course.”

Rita Skeeter departed in a huff, taking her parchment and quill with her. Helen glared at the woman’s back until she was gone. She then turned to Dumbledore, who watched her with a ponderous look.

“I would recommend being careful, dear Helen,” he said, turning on a grandfatherly persona. “Rita Skeeter is a most terrible enemy to have. I just happen to have the political clout to survive the worst of her, how do the Americans put it, hit pieces? That sounds right. She has called me the most terrible things.”

“I am not worried,” Helen said, looking away. “At least, not for myself. The girls who have sworn themselves to my mother, however, will come under threat. There are already whispers about Lord Greengrass and his efforts to take his daughter back. She is staying with us right now, for the dungeons are too dangerous to live among her…housemates. Her sister, Astoria, is a Ravenclaw and thus safe in their tower. That and her friends have closed ranks around her. Good day, Headmaster.” With that, she left the broom closet and stepped into a hallway.

The American pressman leaned against the wall near the closet, waiting. He smiled at her, a bright expression that clued Helen onto who he was.

“Hello, uncle. What brings you out this far?” Helen started down the corridor, heading towards a staircase directly to the Entrance Hall.

“Can I not come to check in on my favorite niece?” Apollo asked, falling into step beside her. “Father noticed from Olympus that your mother has gained a great number of followers, yet the number of those with her Hunt has yet to change. What do you know about this curious phenomena?”

“That many girls belonging to Hecate’s special world are willing to abandon it for my mother’s promises.” Helen glanced over. “Phenomena is a large word for you, uncle. Do know that another of your children has joined the Hunt. One Luna Lovegood.”

Apollo sighed through a small smile. “Disappointing but not a surprise. I had meant for her to help your brother. He’s the most likely candidate to fulfill the prophecy concerning the Dark Lord who killed your mortal parents.”

Helen froze on the staircase and turned to her uncle. “There’s a prophecy? Is it like the ones your Oracle gives to Chiron’s campers or like the Great Prophecy that got Grandpa and his brothers to stop having kids?”

“In between,” Apollo admitted with an immediate look of regret. He then sighed and continued. “Eh, in for an inch, in for a mile. I did say it’s why your mortal parents are dead. You should know that the prophecies of Hecate’s world have always been…odd. The Pythia of old denied witches and wizards for that very reason. False branches, uncertainty, it is enough to make a normal Oracle go made. Their—your—magic can defy the Fates should it be powerful enough.”

_That is more than I ever wished to know. Yet I won’t deny it makes me feel a little better, knowing magical prophecies contain uncertainty._ “The words, Uncle Apollo. What are they?”

A moment passed as he made his decision. “Not here,” Apollo said, turning to ascend the castle. “Come along, dear niece. Hecate told me of the coolest room ever created.” Helen followed, keeping track of every hallway and stairwell, of every portrait and even a false door near a fifth-floor landing. They eventually reached the seventh floor of a narrow hall near Gryffindor Tower and she was led to a tapestry of a man wrestling with trolls or something like that. Her uncle paced before it three times and then a door appeared across from the tapestry. They passed through the door, entering a room where two comfy chairs sat beside a lit hearth.

“Can I expect Auntie Hestia?” Helen asked, smiling at the flames.

“Doubtful,” Apollo said and she could feel the disappointment. Hestia was a favorite of both the Olympians and any demigod willing to seek her out. He sat down in one chair and held a hand towards the other. Once Helen sat, he began. “This is a prophecy spoken by a distant legacy of mine around the time of your birth. Remember with other prophecies that not everything means what it sounds like.” He cleared his throat and then spoke in a low, raspy voice.

_“The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies....”_

Helen leaned back, eyes fixed on her lap. “Are you absolutely certain the prophecy points to Harry?” she asked, slow and methodical with her words.

“He fits every condition,” Apollo said. “He has a scar on his forehead, one just like the wand movements for the Killing Curse. I would say from that alone he was marked. The bit about dying at each other’s hand and not living while the other survives—”

“It means the one of prophecy will vanquish the Dark Lord, for that’s the only way they can live their life. And…there’s something you need to see.” Tugging at her shirt, Helen pulled the neckline down until Apollo could clearly see her collarbone. There, like on Harry’s forehead, was a lightning bolt scar identical to the ‘sowilo’ rune. A sign of power, she knew all too well. There had been an encounter with a Norse demigod that’d revealed the truth of the rune that marked her, along with how strange the world of gods and their children was. “It could mean me. I could be the child of prophecy.”

“Yes, but the prophecy uses ‘he’ and ‘him’. Those are generally pretty specific words.” Apollo leaned over to place a hand on her knee. “I suspect this is difficult for you. Dear sister has always complained about your insistence about finding Harry after learning of him. If she didn’t have the Hunt, I suspect she would have allowed you to spend more time with your brother or even grow up side by side. You have always valued family, unlike most of the Gods.”

“That would’ve been nice, just the three of us. Though, I wouldn’t give up life with the Hunt just for that.” Helen sighed, closing her eyes. “Do you know anything about the First Task? I was told it involves courage and daring in, and they did say this, ‘the face of the unknown.’”

“The Goblet of Fire acts in the same manner an Oracle prophecy does.”

“It would mean violating the Ancient Laws,” Helen groaned. “I can’t even get a single hint from _the_ God of Prophecy?”

Apollo rubbed his chin, thinking. He then nodded, as if her playing to his ego wasn’t part of his decision-making process. “Snatch a mother’s egg. Visit Poseidon with weeds. Touch the cup alone.” With that, he vanished in a flash of silver.

“Of course it’s a haiku,” Helen grumbled, standing.


	5. V

Zoë sat with the gathered Hunters, waiting for the First Task to begin. They filled half a box of the stadium, though few else wanted to join them in it. Their encampment in the Forest had grown tremendously thanks to their recruitment drive after their arrival. Of the new recruits, Daphne and Luna had grown closest with the five who had come with Helen. While the first had a story identical to countless Hunters who’ve come and passed, Luna was an oddity. She had grown closest to Phoebe, thanks to their shared father, but all of the new recruits kept away from the girl. A few had to be disciplined for calling her ‘Loony’. _I would say they have a point, but Helen would tan my hide. She won’t sit by and let that treatment pass._

As much as Zoë wanted to claim stopping Luna’s mistreatment was purely on Helen, their leader had become distracted the past week or so. It began with a rather innocent looking newspaper, the national rag they ignored. However, the front-page headline outraged them when they learned of it. Zoë kept a cutting, solely to bring it before Lady Artemis. She would punish Rita Skeeter, the tarnished offspring of Hermes and Circe. Let Lord Zeus be calmed knowing the matter finally settled as it should have been. The article had read:

 

_HELEN’S MYSTERIOUS PAST, CAPTURED BY A CULT?_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Special Correspondent_

_‘As my dear readers all know, Helen Potter was quick to travel to Hogwarts after returning home, avoiding the press during her strange arrival. With the Triwizard Tournament happening at our beloved school of Hogwarts, I took the assignment to cover the Tournament so I could meet the twin of our celebrated national hero, Harry Potter, 14, best known as the Boy-Who-Lived, the only survivor of the Killing Curse and Vanquisher of You-Know-Who. What I learned about Helen’s past, how she came to live in America, and even the secrets disturbed crackpot and wandseller Garrick Ollivander appeared to know were all a shock. And trust me, you will all be shocked – and worried, too!_

_‘First, I must settle the debate surrounding her appearance. It is true—yes true—that she doesn’t resemble either of her parents. While her hair is technically red like her mother’s, it is a dark auburn compared to the fiery colour Lily Potter boasted. And her silver eyes, icy and guarded! One would think she was a Black if you looked at only her eyes. She has neither her father’s hazel or mother and brother’s emerald. Where they came from, I didn’t know seeing her for the first time. There was no sign of the famous Potter hair, which her brother has, nor anything else that friends and acquaintances of her late parents would recognize. Take Mrs. Heather Portsmith of the Lake Country, who wrote to me in early November. A member of the Home Committee for British Wizards Living Abroad, she was present when Helen arrived to meet with our magical welcoming. She wrote to me of the event, stating, “That girl claiming to be Helen Potter is not who she claims. There isn’t even an ounce of James or Lily in her. She’s some imposter, come to destroy poor Harry Potter. We must protect our national hero before he’s ruined by the girl claiming to be his twin sister.”_

_‘I had thought her upset or perhaps reading too much of crackpot Lovegood’s nonsense, but how she was right! Even more odd was how Ollivander spoke to her. He first called her “Helen Potter” as we all know, but corrected—yes, you read that right, corrected—himself to “Helen Khryselakatos.” If it weren’t for my abilities as a reporter, I could’ve missed it. Even odder was her wand core. Instead of the typical three ingredients Ollivander uses or even Veela hair as used by the French harlot and champion Florence Delacour, Helen’s wand contained powdered horn from a Cerynitis. I had to rely upon a friend knowledgeable about the muggle world to discover these strange words come from Greek legends. And of all the legends, both are connected to a single being: Artemis, Goddess of the Hunt and Childbirth. I thought it might just be some American oddity, for it is well known their connection to the Greek world, but I decided it best to reach out to my contact in MACUSA. (Editor’s Note: MACUSA stands for the Magical Congress of the United States of America)_

_‘He told me of a strange magical force in America, one that resists MACUSA’s efforts to bring them to heel. What caught my attention was that this force was attached to a cult, as he described it, which worships the Greek gods, including Artemis! It appears that our dear Helen Potter was abducted by this cult once out of the sight of witches and wizards, and then changed and perverted for their purposes._

_‘Worst of all, she clearly believes their lies. She told me how Lily Potter performed a ritual to save her from a cruel fate and summoned whom Helen calls “mother.” Yes, dear readers. Helen Potter doesn’t even recognize Lily Potter as her own mother! Even worse is that this cult is using her to now steal our fine young witches. Daphne Greengrass, eldest daughter of the respected Wizengamot member and businessman Lord Cygrus Greengrass, has joined this cult, among nearly forty other witches of both British and continental origins. Lord Greengrass has become most distraught over his daughter being tricked or even coerced into this dangerous cult. And for as much as I lament the nonsense of Xenophobic Lovegood’s magazine, his daughter Loon, has also been tricked by this cult’s disturbing draw._

_‘I say, and so should every fine witch and wizard of Britain, that the true Helen Potter must be returned to us, her cult brainwashing purged, and her true features restored! We cannot let a true daughter of Britain suffer any longer!’_

_‘For more on Harry Potter, see page 3. For more on the Triwizard Tournament, see pages 6, 7, and 11.’_

Zoë’s teeth gritted, reading the piece. Seven girls left the Hunt by nightfall and they were fortunate to have only lost one more since. It had done little to startle those who believed in Lady Artemis and her gift, which the lieutenant was thankful for. If they had all left, it would have been a terrible day for the Hunt. _Even worse than when Constantinople was sacked and later fell._

“Do not worry,” Luna said. Zoë turned to the odd daughter of Apollo. Her insight was true, should one determine the nature of the strange creatures she spoke of. “If Helen is anything like her brother, she will be fine.”

“She is right,” Daphne added. “Every year, Harry Potter manages to get himself into a life or death situation and survives, often saving the castle in the process. Rumor is that he has even defeated the Dark Lord twice since coming to Hogwarts.”

Closing her eyes as she took in a meditative breath, Zoë allowed the words to flow over her, calming her erratic heart. _She shall be fine. Her brother is clearly cut from a similar cloth as she is. I am only worried for my Lady’s daughter._

“Welcome, everyone, to the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament!” shouted the announcer. Dressed like a chubby bumblebee, it was easy to pick out Ludo Bagman among the other judges. Zoë had questioned everyone she could until she determined just who would be judging the champions during each task. First was Bagman, the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports. The man was an idiot and had been used by the terrorist that had murdered Helen’s mortal parents for…something stupid, most likely. Next was his colleague, Barty Crouch. The man had once been the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before his son, Barty Junior, was caught with the Lestranges after the attack on the Longbottom family. He had been sent to Azkaban, where he had died after a year in what Zoë assumed was the worst/best tribute to Tartarus ever made by mortals. Even so, it led to Crouch not becoming Minister, but instead the Head of the Department of Magical International Cooperation. Hermione had also told them he was responsible for Harry and Helen’s godfather, Sirius Black, being wrongfully imprisoned without a trial. _Crouch is the worst of mortals and a reminder of why Lady Artemis first assembled the Hunt._

The other three judges, while unsurprising, made her question the reasoning abilities of Hecate’s magicals. The Headmasters—or Headmistress, for Beauxbatons—filled out the panel. Headmaster Karkaoff seemed to be a wily man and there were rumors he had been a Death Eater until giving up several of his compatriots. The Hunters had orders to shoot him if he made a move against Helen. Dumbledore continued to be pleasant (for a man), though the man being a Roman demigod made the Hunt wary. Even more annoying was that Madame Maxime was half-giant. While it wasn’t enough to put them on guard, they all knew her creature heritage was from the moment they came too close, just as with Hagrid. Both of the large individuals stared at them oddly, though they didn’t seem to realize why they had such a strong reaction to the Hunt.

“Now, the champions were just told about the First Task and are ready to begin. They must…” He paused, a hand directing the crowd deeper into the stadium. Everyone turned and watched as a dark dragon was led inside to a nest of eggs. “…Get past a dragon and steal their golden egg! Points will be given for creativity, speed, and magical ability. After much discussion, we have determined that if a champion manages to slay their dragon, they will be granted the maximum of 50 points and fifteen percent of the spoils!”

“Helen will go for it, won’t she,” Daphne said, more question than statement. Kassandra and Phoebe confirmed it, launching into tales about Helen’s hunting abilities and her fights against monsters. They even told Zoë’s favorite, where Helen had killed the Minotaur with a single arrow through its eyes. The spoil was fashioned into a horn that could summon Artemis and the Hunters to wherever Helen might be.

“Our first competitor is Helen Potter! Unlike the other champions, she is not representing a magical school. So that means our Salem Witches Academy and Ilvermorny fans listening across the pond can’t claim our American champion as their own.” Ludo Bagman paused as the dragon roared, as if understanding Helen’s name. It was serpentine, a fierce creature of black scales. Its wings and legs looked ready to break apart, as if they were false.

_Oh no, a drakon. This is most terrible. At least it does not appear to be Python._

Ludo continued in his announcement. “She will be facing a Hungarian Horntail. This breed is the most dangerous that can be found in the wild! Let us see how our youngest champion handles the challenge.”

A cannon boomed and Helen emerged from behind a dark curtain at the far side of the stadium. She was dressed in the same silver armor the Hunters had worn during their arrival. Her wand twirled, carving several Greek letters before glowing pale silver. Her wand grew, stretching, and soon she carried a bow of white poplar. The bowstring was just visible as soft sunlight gleamed upon it. The drakon struck forward, barely remembering to keep its legs and wings attached. A lance of green fluid struck forward, yet Zoë could tell the crowd saw the dark flames they expected.

_The drakon is using the mist to trick their eyes. Lady Artemis said that Hecate’s favored are capable of recognizing the mist, but struggle to see through it, unless sufficiently powerful or knowledgeable. It appears the crowd is too weak to see through it._

Zoë looked away from the stadium, across the crowd, and found the judges. Only Dumbledore appeared to see anything wrong, though Madam Maxime’s lips were pursed. It was clear she was confused by what she was seeing, but couldn’t figure out what was wrong.

“What is that?” an annoyingly familiar voice asked. The girls hissed as Harry Potter pushed forward to Zoë. He shrugged an apology, though the Hunters didn’t appear to be quick to accept it. For every good deed the boy did, too often he found a way to undo it.

“What makes thou think something is happening?” Zoë asked, frowning.

“I know that dragons cannot speak parseltongue. I tried a few days ago, when Hagrid took me to see what was waiting for Helen.”

“What is it saying?”

Harry stared at the drakon, frowning. “Something about an ancient vengeance, how her blood was similar enough to…” He paled and his eyes flicked to her. There was a strange terror that made Zoë feel cold. With a small voice, he said, “I though you were joking about her facing Python.”

_Gods above and below, given Helen strength,_ she prayed, watching with a sudden fear as Helen struggled to dodge Python’s attacks. A few silver arrows poked out from its body, but not even a hint of monster ichor had been spilt. They knew they couldn’t interfere, but Zoë could tell every one of the Hunters wished to fight beside their Lady’s daughter.

“Still not sure how she turned her wand into a bow, but clearly she’s using some type of conjuration to create those arrows she’s shooting. Advanced magic and draining too, if they are silver like they appear. That they’re sticking into her dragon is tremendously impressive, but the clock is ticking!”

Helen ducked under a spurt of poison and dashed forward, summoning three arrows onto the bowstring. She jumped onto a boulder, rolled under another attack from Python, sprung back onto her feet, and leapt high. The drakon moved to attack from below and opened its jaw, revealing a multitude of yellowed teeth, like a spear wall of celestial bronze. She twisted in the air to stare down into the open maw and released the three arrows. They flew with a reverberating thrum into Python’s mouth. While two ricocheted off the teeth, the third flew true. It speared the back of the serpent’s mouth, burning through its body as the purifying magic of the silver destroyed the monster. Helen’s landing was rough, rolling across the rocks. She stopped near the eggs, grabbed the golden one, and stumbled out of the arena with a grim smile.

Zoë sighed in relief, as Python broke apart into gold dust. Bagman struggled to describe what he was seeing, but it was clear to everyone gathered that Helen Potter, as far as they knew, had slain a dragon, and a Hungarian Horntail at that. The Hunters screamed themselves hoarse as the judges announced she would be granted 50 points as agreed upon, though they weren’t sure what spoils could be distributed.

The rest of the Task went by without a performance as impressive. Krum nearly slew the Swedish Short-Snout he faced, the Conjunctivitis Curse ruining its eyes. Fleur put her Chinese Fireball to sleep and skirted around a snoring plume of flame. Last was Cedric Diggory, who was paler than Harry. He struggled and dodged, but it was only on the back of his broom that he could secure his golden egg from a Common Welsh Green. It ended with Helen leading the pack, Cedric trailing, and Krum and Fleur jostling for second place.

“A most impressive performance,” Bagman said once it was all finished. “The Champions will find a clue to the next Task within their eggs. The Second Task will be held in February. Until then, farewell!”


	6. VI

“What do you mean _with a partner_?” Helen asked, frowning. December had arrived with a few feet of snow slamming Hogwarts. She sat across from Professor McGonagall, sipping tea while listening to stories about her mortal parents. Yet, McGonagall had decided today was the perfect day to drop a bombshell on her.

“It is traditional for the Champions to open the Yule Ball with a partner. You do know how to dance, yes?”

Helen scoffed. “Naturally, but that is not the issue. I object to having a partner. A boy one, at the very least.”

“Same-sex relations between witches are frowned upon, Miss Potter. Even more, than ones between wizards are frowned upon. You can make it clear to your partner that—”

“It doesn’t matter what _I_ make clear. They will see me as the Boy-Who-Lived’s sister and most even believe that asinine article about me being abducted by a cult. They will think they could change my mind through a single night at a ball and suddenly I’ll bow to their wishes or the wishes of their family of whatever nonsense they’ve convinced themselves of. Perhaps if I had reason to assume they would do so as a sign of friendship with my brother, but there are few, if any, I would trust to do so.” Helen set her cup down. “I will not leave my mother or her Hunters. Thank you for tea, Professor.” With that she stood and left, ignoring the older woman’s protests.

The daughter of Artemis strode down the corridor, flashing gritted teeth at any boy who dared to try and approach her. She snaked her way through the castle until she reached the Great Hall. Dumbledore had been generous enough to establish a table for the Hunters, whose numbers had increased after the First Task. They now numbered around seventy, with girls ranging from first through seventh year among them. As she approached the table, she found there were only three there that wasn’t part of the Hunt.

“You are the only male I can handle right now, brother,” Helen said, sitting across from Harry. “Professor McGonagall told me about my _duty_ as a Champion and if I hex nobody by tomorrow, it will be a miracle sent from Aphrodite herself.”

“You could have it worse,” Hermione said, writing an essay. She had three leather-bound books nearby, all spilled open to reveal complex magical calculations. “The other champions are dealing with a similar problem. Well, other than Diggory since he has a date.”

“Even Krum?” Helen asked, pausing as she reached for a platter of roasted lamb.

“It’s why I’m working here and not in the library,” Hermione grumbled. “His fan club has made studying difficult, if not impossible. Even the Hufflepuffs have complained about it and they’re legendary for their tolerance. Madam Pince does her best, but they’ve been persistent. I understand why he’s there, being a Champion and all, but do they have to stalk him in the library?” She glanced around the table. “Would any of you be willing to help me find a permanent solution?”

“We do not harm maidens for any reason,” Rhanis said. She drank deep from a goblet of white wine. They had found a legacy of Dionysus among the new recruits and the girl had finally learned how to conjure a good sweet wine. “Even if those girls are fools.”

“That wasn’t what I mean, but I understand,” Hermione said. She then turned to the pair on Helen’s right. “Johanna, who’s your friend?”  
            “Oh, sorry about that,” Johanna said, covering her mouth as if embarrassed. “This is Gabriella. Her older sister is Fleur, the Beauxbatons Champion.” The young girl, perhaps nine or ten, grinned. “She is part Veela but hasn’t matured into her future powers. That is keeping boys from making fools of themselves before her, unlike with her sister. You wouldn’t believe it, but she is almost fourteen.”

Helen wanted to question Johanna’s words, but her eyes caught the sight of a boy going to his knees before the elder Veela. “PLEASE GO WITH ME TO THE YULE BALL!” he announced, his voice way too loud for the Great Hall. A long moment passed before the French Champion scoffed.

“Away, English dog. I do not entertain _little_ boys like you.”

“Wait,” Helen started, finally getting a good look at the boy and his flaming red hair. “Isn’t that your friend Ron?”

He groaned, hiding his face with his hands. Hermione also looked away, letting her frustration slip away through a long sigh.

“Is there a reason thou are friends with him?” Zoë asked. That led to Harry explaining just how Ron had been his first friend. Then Hermione told them the story of how she had spent half a day crying in the bathroom due to Ron’s words, only to be saved from a mountain troll by him and Harry. The second story permanently poisoned the Hunt’s opinion of the redhead. Helen was disturbed her brother remained friends with the youngest male Weasley.

“Excuse me,” said a voice that sounded manicured. Helen turned and frowned at the pale boy with two hulking lads behind him. His face was pointed, like a ferret’s, and she knew who he was before he could introduce himself. “I am Draco Malfoy. Miss Helen Potter, will you do me the pleasure of accompanying me to the Yule Ball?”

Helen smirked, for she had been hoping for this encounter. “You are a most arrogant boy, coming here to ask that of me. Daphne has told us all about you, Draco Malfoy. About your bragging and bullying, about how you bought your way onto the Quidditch team and how you use your father’s power as a way to silence anyone who’d dare oppose you.” She paused to grin at her brother. “Other than Harry, that is. But then, my brother has always bested you.”

Malfoy flushed red and sneered. The expression somehow _pulled_ his hairline back and added a decade to his soft face. “Your brother is already destined for a violent end. I was willing to give you a chance to escape a similar fate, but you’ve clearly adopted your brother’s arrogance!”

The table went quiet and they all watched as Helen rose. _He should count himself fortunate. If I were my mother, I would smite him for the insult, and if we were not inside the Great Hall, he would already be a pincushion._ “I would suggest,” she began, voice soft, almost lyrical, yet laced with thunderous violence. “That you leave now. I heard about your stunning performance as a ferret. I am sorely tempted to repeat that act. Do not think it beyond my power to do so.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Not even the Dark Lord had such power. How could a halfblood?”

“You will find halfbloods have more power than you could imagine.” Helen smirked. _If only he knew._ “I am a half-blood in more ways than one. Leave.”

The boy sneered. After a moment where his mind whirled, he turned, robe swirling, and stalked off. The two large boys followed though they glanced back, confused. _It seems he often has the last word_.

“How unpleasant,” Rhanis said as Helen sat back down. “Is he always that obnoxious?”

“I think that was him on a good day. I can’t think of a time where he willingly left without getting the last word,” Hermione said, smiling. “He’s been far nastier before. One of those times I even hit him.”

“It was brilliant,” Harry said, grinning. “I wish you could’ve seen it, Helen. You would’ve been proud of it. Broke his nose, though he got to Madam Pomphrey fast enough to have it healed straight, the prat.”

“Now I wish I had seen it.” Helen sighed, resting her head on the table. “I cannot believe they expect me to go to the Ball with a _boy_. I do not think there is one who would not use me for his own gain.”

“Why not invite someone from America?” Hermione asked. “Your uncle could pretend to be someone else for an evening.”

“Breaks Ancient Law,” Helen grumbled. “And if I could, he would end the night chatting up some girl and nine months later, there’s suddenly another magical demigod. Don’t need that happening.”

“There are a spells and potions to prevent pregnancy,” Daphne said, several seats down. “Unlike muggles or mortals, we have means by which to prevent pregnancy that work every time.”

“The weakest of immortals could break mortal magic,” Phoebe said. “You would need someone with power like Hecate to prepare the potion or perform the spell for it to resist a god. There are those who could be…convinced, but they would be as like to hold you captive. Circe comes to mind, though she is a jealous witch and has a…complicated relationship with the Lady of the Crossroads.”

“She is also a Titan, if only through her faded father,” Hermione added. Helen wished she knew how much time her brother’s closest friend spent with the Hunt. Given how many books the girl read, there were a dozen places she could’ve gotten it from.

“Helios is not faded, only suppressed,” Gabriella said. They were all surprised by her small voice. “Us Veela have a representative that visits his court often. It is no longer the grand thing it was before the Romans gave away his chariot, but he had not disappeared.”

“Yet Apollo drives the sun chariot across the sky,” Helen countered. “What does Helios do if stripped of his primary duties?”

“Other than raise cows? He keeps the peace between those Titans not severely punished by Zeus and Olympus. Even so, there are…whispers. Whispers, it is said, from the Pit…and from the Crooked One.”

A migraine threatened Helen and she found herself rubbing her temples. Strange dreams with a nasty voice had been bothering her for the past couple weeks, but they’d been kept at bay thanks to her mental shields. The development of Occlumency had to be the workings of a god. “And how would he gain power enough to rise?”

“Manipulating time,” Gabriella said with a shrug. “I’ve heard it’s possible, but don’t know how.”

“Oh no!” lamented Hermione. “I...I helped Kron – ”

“Do not say his name!” Zoë hissed. “There are those we are safe to name here, but not him. Even in the Palace on Olympus would it not be safe to name the Crooked One without drawing his attention.”

Hermione nodded, terrified. “I used a time turner last year. Several times a week, I would go back an hour or two at a time to take multiple classes at the same time. And then…” She turned to Harry, who sighed.

“We went back three hours to save two innocents from dying.”

“That would grant enough power for him to whisper into the minds and dreams of mortals, and even demigods.” Zoë scowled at her plate while Phoebe and Kassandra shared concerned looks.

“We will let mother know when we see her,” Helen decided. “She has long feared this would come to pass, at least since the Great Prophecy came to light. For now, I need to find a way to deal with the stupid dance.”

Weeks passed and two days before the Ball, Helen still had no solution to her problem. Boys became more desperate to gain her attention and she was on the verge of switching to only castration hexes whenever one tried to press his case after she denied him. Hermione had somehow found someone worth her time to go with but was unwilling to tell. Harry, after being shot down by Cho Chang, was able to convince Daphne to attend with him. Nobody was certain how he did it, but Helen was able to determine they had ventured to the Chamber of Secrets recently. She hoped they had successfully sacrificed the basilisk corpse to her mother, for it would be a fine gift and the girl was still Slytherin enough to desire to see the chamber of that House’s founder. _It feels odd to say this, but it is a shame she has become so dedicated to the Hunt. If her father could be dealt with, I think they could be happy together._

“You need to pick someone,” Hermione said as the two girls found a quiet alcove in the library. “Even Fleur has found someone, though it was probably because he was the least embarrassing person to ask her.”

“I know,” Helen said, setting her head on the table after sitting. “It’s just that every boy is—”

“A small minded idiot or a possessive arse, I know,” Hermione said, smiling fondly. “I have heard those words so often from you and the Hunters that I almost believe it.”

“So your date convinced you otherwise?” Helen asked. The question made her sound like a normal teenage girl and it felt peculiar.

“I could say it was because of pity, but that wouldn’t be the entire truth,” she admitted. With a smile, she continued. “Harry has been a great friend since he saved me. Even when I was petrified, he went and visited me. The worst month of our friendship was when I handed his broom over to the teachers to check for jinxes and hexes last year.”

“Yes, yes,” Helen said. “But that won’t solve my issue.”

“Are you sure there’s nobody you can ask? Or at least say yes to?” Hermione’s concern was nice and Helen wished her brother had beaten the mystery date to asking the bushy haired girl. It was a favorable fate for the two.

“Since this is part of the Tournament, Ancient Law prevents gods from interfering, at least the Olympians. The only one not among them I would consider is Thanatos, yet I don’t think even the mist is enough to hide his wings from magical eyes.” She liked the dark-skinned god well enough, though like all involved with the Underworld he was prone to releasing a deathly aura. Learning her Peverell lineage went back to him was a surprise, though.

“Wings, really?” Hermione shook her head. “I wish I knew of the Ball months ago. I could’ve brewed some Polyjuice and then one of the Hunters could disguise themselves and go with you.”

“Thanks for the offer, but they would reject you. They chaff being around boys so often and some have begun to countdown to our departure. If it weren’t for my brother, I would consider joining in. The Tournament is…tedious.”

Before Hermione could respond, there was a soft gasp and the sound of several books hitting the ground. The two girls flinched and poked their heads out to see who it was. A mousey boy with blond hair was shuffling to pick up a number of large leather-bound books. That Madam Pince hadn’t emerged to drive him out of the library was a miracle in itself. He looked up, almost finished picking them up, and tried to smile past his embarrassment.

“Hullo Hermione,” the boy said, He picked up the final one and turned so he could face them without looking over his tall stack. “I was just returning these books. They were left all over the dorm and Pince would have our hides if they didn’t return before the Ball.”

“It’s good to see you, Colin,” Hermione said. “Colin, this is Harry’s sister, Helen. Helen, meet Colin Creevey. He’s a third year and one of the students petrified during the Chamber incident.”

Helen nodded, knowing who the boy was. Harry had admitted how annoying he found the boy’s paparazzi actions were. The boy had, after waking and being confronted about his actions, promised to do better. While he still had some hero worship for her brother, he had done as promised and she heard he was even seen without his camera days at a time now. A thought struck her, one from long considering the boy’s actions, but there were questions she needed answered.

“Do you have plans for the Yule Ball?”

Colin gaped, eyes like a fish. “Are…are you asking me?” The last word squeaked past his lips. “I’m, well, I’m a boy and a third year so I couldn’t go with a date.” He flushed. “I-I’ve heard you don’t like us…”  
            “Do you like girls in a romantic way?” Helen demanded.

Colin mumbled, face flushed, but eventually his voice became loud enough for them to hear, “Not really. Some, but not like the others. I think your brother is, well…” He drifted off, his pink face turning to a flaming scarlet.

Helen nodded. “Then I would have you escort me. I believe you would be trustworthy enough for the evening.”

When she appeared two nights later for the Ball with Colin by her side, nobody dared say a word when she was near. She knew everyone would gossip once she had passed, but for a moment the crowds of Hogwarts were silent. They joined the other Champions. Cedric had gotten the girl Harry had first asked and Helen wondered what about Cho Chang drew her brother in. She was rather plain and had a boxy form that would make Aphrodite call the girl unworkable. Then there was Fleur with a drooling seventh year. The boy had grown worse and Helen suspected it was due to overexposure. The impact of a Veela’s allure either intensified or disappeared after repeated long-term exposure. _He will be tossed away after tonight, if not before._

A beautiful girl in a periwinkle dress arrived and joined Krum. Helen went to introduce herself, assuming the girl had been some hidden flower among the Durmstrang boys.

“Helen, it’s me. Hermione.”

The daughter of Artemis blinked, frowned, and then gasped. The girl’s bushy hair had been smoothed and twisted into an elegant knot. With hints of makeup to turn a comely face into something sublime and baggy robes exchanged for a more form-fitting dress, Hermione had blossomed into what Helen imagined children of Aphrodite looked like upon their claiming.

“I suddenly fear for the boys of Hogwarts,” Helen said, grinning. “Their hearts will break when you pass and their dreams will be haunted by your visage. The first Hermione was said to have beauty matching her mother’s. _You_ have beauty enough to send ten times the ships Helen did when she went with Prince Paris.”

Hermione’s blush grew with every word and now was so strong her face was beet red. Krum, who stood at her side, was still staring dumbstruck. He likely never imagined the bookworm would make such a dramatic change and was still entranced.

“Champions, dates,” came McGonagall’s Scottish accent. She smiled at the sight of Helen and Colin. She ignored the expression. “It is time. Miss Delacour, Mister Davies will go first. Then Miss Potter and Mister Creevey, Mister Diggory and Miss Chang, with Mister Krum and—oh, Miss Granger, I didn’t recognize you. Well, you two will enter last. Dinner is before the first dance. Your table is with the judges. Remember, you represent your school tonight.”

The four pairs entered the Great Hall, transformed from its traditional appearance into a majesty of ice and snow. Other students were gathered along their path to the Head Table. Helen spotted Harry and Daphne, the two standing close without contact. A few other Hunters, more liberal in their opinions, had come in stag. They had gathered with Tracey Davis, Daphne’s friend who had decided not to join the Hunters. Further along, she spotted Draco Malfoy with a girl with a pug nose dressed in a pink abomination. They both glared at her, which she returned with an amused smile. _Let Eros and Aphrodite curse you both._

They reached the Head Table and sat down. Helen found herself between Colin and a young man with red hair and horned glasses. He introduced himself as Percy Weasley, Barty Crouch’s personal assistant. The old man was ill, Percy told her and had sent the boy in his place.

“The Ministry was quite surprised by how you entered the country,” Percy said as they waited for the rest of the students to sit down. “It was widely believed you had perished when you failed to arrive at Hogwarts. There were a few rumors from America, but the Ministry has always been more focused on European matters. The Headmaster may have his duties with the ICW, but most witches and wizards pay them no mind.”

Helen nodded, watching as a menu was placed before them. Headmaster Dumbledore scanned his and then said, “Pork chops.” His food appeared and Helen turned to her own menu. She ordered salmon and roasted potatoes, much different from Colin’s Sheppard’s Pie and Percy emulating the Headmaster.

“What are your duties at the Ministry?” Colin asked Percy. The young man beamed and began to lecture about the importance of his work, which Helen learned was mostly reports on cauldron bottom thickness on imports. What should’ve been a dry, boring topic on the bland work of bureaucrats turned out to be a surprisingly deep and complex look into Magical European affairs and economics. Percy highlighted differences in altitude, humidity, and pewter availability in different countries and how they influenced production.

“Honestly, producing cauldrons in Wales is the best option for us. Imports are too often thin at their bottoms, though it is an unfortunate reality that our reluctance to oppose Grindelwald until Dumbledore’s duel in ’45 created the current problems with our European neighbors. The Germans and French blocked early attempts to get aid from the ICW to fight You-Know-Who,” Percy said, holding the last piece of pork before his lips. “Grindelwald not only threatened the Statute and butchered entire magical communities, but used his… _influence_ on the German muggle leaders to impose horrors upon the muggle world.”

“Are you certain he controlled Hitler?” Helen asked. At the frowns she received, she added, “It’s just, well, I know the Imperius doesn’t work on people like, well, him. You never said outright, but you implied that was the case pretty heavily.”

Colin scowled. “What do you mean?” The boy had to be deeply familiar with the period’s atrocities to be so disturbed by her words.

She lowered her voice, glancing around for interested ears. “Don’t tell anyone what I’m saying, but that man’s father was Hades, the God of the Underworld. Demigods are immune to most magical manipulations that aren’t from Greek monsters.”

“That would explain why they worked together,” Percy said, nodding. She was pleased that he seemed to not take the articles about her at face value. “Grindelwald was obsessed with becoming the Master of Death. That title comes from a…delusion surrounding a rather morbid children’s story.”

Helen nodded, even if some of Percy’s theory was off. She knew he spoke of The Three Brothers, for Thanatos was featured in the telling. According to the Greek version, the three brothers were demigods, sons of the Big Three. The son of Zeus asked for an undefeatable wand, but his fatal flaw of arrogance led to him boasting. A thief cut his throat in the night and stole the wand. The second, a son of Hades, wished to defy his father and not draw upon his godly gifts to speak with spirits. The shade summoned by the stone he received was someone he held a grudge against in life, and like the first brother, was tricked into suicide thanks to his fatal flaw. The last, a son of Poseidon, received a cloak to hide him from the Gods of the Underworld. Some claimed, due to how the third brother evaded Death that he was the child of a different god. Either way, it wouldn’t be for decades that they would meet him and the story continued with how he deceived Charon and sailed the River Styx to Elysium.

What was abandoned from the story was how Thanatos sired the third brother’s only grandchild. The cloak of the story was likely in the hands of her brother. The other objects could be anywhere, but Helen assumed it was somewhere the Heart of the West had been.

“If he was a demigod, what of the other muggle leaders?” Colin asked, returning the conversation to the Second World War.

“Churchill was a son of Poseidon while Roosevelt a son of Zeus. It is said that Stalin was a son of Hades if only to explain the brutality of the eastern front and the wrath of Demeter that struck his country during his lifetime. We know he was a son of the Big Three, just not who his father was. None of them wish to claim him as their own and Hitler’s parentage was widely known at the onset of the war, so it’s an ongoing debate.”

She paused, letting a bite of salmon melt in her mouth. “I should add that Hades’ children often share the fatal flaw of holding grudges. It would explain Hitler’s hatred of the Jewish people.”

The two appeared to want to know more, but the first strains of music begun to play. Colin sprung to his feet, following the example of the other boys, and offered Helen a hand. She took it for politeness sake and they went to the clear dance floor. The first dance was a simple waltz and Creevey stepped on her feet several times before the music changed. Several couples joined them and the other champions as the dance went.

The soft music continued for several more seconds and then faded away. The Weird Sisters—the closest thing the magical world had to a rock band—suddenly appeared and screaming magical children swarmed the dance floor. Helen backed away and shook her head as Colin was caught up in the swell of excitement. She was able to make her way to the tables surrounding the floor. Maybe a third of the chairs were filled, primarily with foreign students frowning at the music. She spotted Harry and Daphne at a table, talking in a manner that, once again, tempted her to wish the girl would abandon her oath to Artemis.

Instead, she drifted outside. What was usually a small courtyard between the Great Hall and a curtain wall overlooking the Black Lake was now a fine garden that looked much how Helen thought Persephone’s did in the Underworld, were it to snow. Those few couples that had already slipped away from the Ball were spread around, ignoring her as she meandered about.

“You know what this means,” a hissed voice said, catching Helen’s attention. She made her way towards the voice until she discovered that Headmaster Karkaoff and Professor Snape, whose hatred for her brother was almost legendary, were speaking. Karkaoff had exposed his left forearm and Helen saw that the strange mark—a snake emerging from a skull—was rather dark, but still opaque in places.

“I do,” Snape said. “However, I will be safe when he returns. I am in a most…fortunate position. You, however, I cannot say.”

“And now you understand my terror,” Karkaoff hissed. “I had thought him gone after that Samhain, and so when I gave those names I—”

“Was acting in your best interest,” Snape finished, rolling his eyes. “If you wish to bother me with this, do it in my office. Students are bound to wander this garden and I do not need them spying on my conversations.” The sallow man then turned away, robes flaring in a manner flamboyant and intimidating at once. His eyes glanced towards Helen but seemed to miss her among the bushes, trees, and snow.

Helen drifted around the garden a little more. She overheard a second conversation, this one between Hagrid and Madam Maxime. That the large man confirmed the Hunters suspicions was not of interest. That a magical beetle was nearby were of interest, though. She watched it fly off, making sure to remember the strange pattern. _I know it somewhere but cannot remember it. Perhaps it will come to me later._

The Ball had been going on for nearly two hours when Helen finally returned to the Great Hall. Most of those still there had moved to the tables, talking in hushed, giggling tones. Colin was nowhere to be seen and she was thankful no sense of guilt or betrayal passed through her. It was rude on her part to abandon him, even if him accompanying her was to circumvent a troublesome condition. She scanned the Hall and made her way towards a table. Four were sat around it—her brother, Hermione, Daphne, and Krum, though he appeared to be on the verge of falling asleep.

“Good evening,” Helen said, joining them. She slid into the nearest chair and rested her chin on the table. “Even though I barely danced, I’m exhausted.”

“How long were you out there?” Hermione asked. “I saw you slip away when the Weird Sisters started. I might not be a big fan, but they weren’t so…distasteful to go outside.”

“I think Helen went outside for other purposes,” Daphne said. She glanced around the Great Hall and shook her head. “I never thought being in this room would make me uncomfortable. It’s strange how much I want to be outside, even in the Forbidden Forest.”

“It’s part of the bond with my mother,” Helen said. “Her domain is the wilderness, and thus those who follow her…”

“Are compelled to be in it.” Daphne then smiled, a thankful expression.

Helen returned the smile and then turned to Harry. “I hope you’ve been a gentleman this evening. How did you get the lovely Miss Greengrass—a _Hunter_ —to accompany you?”

“I, uh, asked,” Harry said. He looked away, cheeks a faint pink. “Well, asked if she wanted to see the Chamber of Secrets. I had been thinking about the whole ‘sacrifice to Artemis’ thing and well…”

“He asked me to help,” Daphne said. “I was shocked and nearly said no, but then I thought about how only a few people had been down there in centuries and I wanted to be among them. It was a good thing I already got Rhanis to fully explain how to properly sacrifice to the gods.”

“You make it sound like I promised you something special,” Harry groaned. He turned to his sister. “Isn’t there something you can do about her?”

“Depends on your intentions, Harry. Are they honest?”

Hermione smiled and Daphne rolled her eyes as Harry’s face flushed. They continued to quietly chat until Victor Krum interrupted them with a rough snore before waking. He looked at them, eyes hazy with sleep, and asked, “Did I miss something?”


	7. VII

Helen stared at the golden egg. Her most recent attempt to discover the egg’s secret had gone as poorly as the previous several attempts. The Hunters had reeled from the sound and none of the new recruits could say what exactly the egg’s terrible sound was. They threw out amusing suggestions involving a hag, repotting grown mandrakes, and lassoing a siren. Even so, she was troubled by what Apollo had told her. _“Visit Poseidon with weeds.”_ The first one— _“Snatch a mother’s egg”_ —had guided her to what it was that task was before Python’s disruptive involvement. If things had played out as they did for the other champions, then it would have been the perfect piece of advice. Yet, it was the best she had and, hopefully, her second clue would help her prepare for the Task.

With a sigh, she rose from the cushions within her tent, golden egg in hand, and slipped out. The other Hunters bustled about their campsite, carrying firewood or laundry or animals to be prepared. Tucked about ten feet into the forest, they had found a pleasant clearing that, as Daphne informed them, had been used for a rather infamous lesson involving hippogriffs the year previous. Helen had smiled, hearing how her brother had gotten the beast to let him ride it. _“Don’t call it a beast though,” Daphne had added. She then smirked and said, “Hippogriffs are terribly proud, as Malfoy discovered to his great misfortune.”_ She had asked after the creature but was disappointed to learn it had perished at the hands of an executor the previous June. That it had been the same day Sirius Black narrowly escaped from the Dementors and fled Hogwarts was skimmed over.

“Still trying to figure out the egg?” a former third year Ravenclaw asked, sitting with a couple of her fellows that had abandoned their tower in exchange for a life among the Hunters. “We’ve been discussing the tournament, and we think we have a solution.”

“And?” Helen asked She raised an eyebrow like an eagle in flight.

“The four elements,” the girl said. “We think the tasks revolve around them. Well, at least in part.” She glanced at her friends and they shot Helen ashamed looks. “That’s all we have, though.”

Helen nodded, considering their words. The four elements were each associated with an Olympian, and one of them was the same god mentioned by her uncle.

“Thank you,” Helen said. She tucked the egg beneath her arm and turned to leave camp. “I think I know what to do.” The girls nodded, though their faces revealed a desire to ask what she planned. She started for the Lake, eyes focused on the giant ship that the Durmstrang students had arrived on. A few of the Hunters had gossiped about Krum swimming in the Black Lake and if it meant what she feared, the professional Quidditch player had figured out the secret of the egg before her.

_Or Headmaster Karkaoff is illegally helping his Champion._

She had learned that cheating was a tradition for the Tournament, though it was clear to Helen that Dumbledore held closer to the rulebook compared to his French and Eastern European counterparts.

Helen reached the shore of the Black Lake after a few minutes trudging through the snow. She was near an old oak, its leaves long gone and branches pressed down by the heavy Scottish snows. A moment passed as she pondered opening the egg and listening to it under the cold murky waters, but even she had to fear hypothermia. Thus, she turned away and headed up to the castle. With everything going on, she would bet that Hermione and maybe even Harry would be in the library. She had gotten to know the expansive chamber in some capacity, scouring the shelves with their rickety build and ancient books. There was an entire section—a single bookshelf in truth—composed of books in Ancient Greek. They were an excellent source of knowledge in potions and transfiguration, rituals and old practices that only Hecate would know, or at least teach. There was a temptation to translate them into English, but she feared either Madam Pince or Dumbledore himself would then secret them into the Restricted Section. It would fit the ignorant trend of British magicals to call anything with true power or mysterious origins ‘Dark’ and proceed to either ban or restrict it. She wondered how they would react, learning Lily Potter had performed a ritual based upon blood magic and ritual sacrifice to save the lives of her children.

“Oh, hullo, Helen,” called a booming voice. She turned as Hagrid approached. It was rare to see the large man inside the castle, especially with his mixed-breed creatures causing havoc for his Care of Magical Creatures class. He claimed they were hibernating, but a couple hunters had checked and they were convinced the monsters could wake and attack at any moment. _Worse, they grow even while in slumber. The foul creatures should be destroyed._

“Hello, Hagrid. What brings you to the castle?” Helen asked, blocking the large man’s path towards the doors. He frowned beneath his beard.

“Jus’ speaking with Dumbledore ‘bout the Third Task. They wan’ me to help out, adding some me beasties to the mix.” He then paused and, as if he had said it a dozen times before, added, “I shouldn’t’ve told yeh that.”

“Oh?” Helen started, smiling. “Have you ever told Harry something you shouldn’t?”

Hagrid nodded, looking anywhere but her. She stepped aside and, with a thankful nod, the large man left the castle. She snorted and continued on towards the library. She passed several students and even a few Beauxbatons girls, though Helen suspected they were in the castle to escape the snow and cold. Their school was clearly in the south, perhaps around Marseilles or Nice. She smiled at them and they turned away, noses high and eyes closed.

“They’re rather proud, aren’t they?” Helen turned to find that Hermione had joined her on the staircase up to the second floor. “They were shivering when they arrived in October. I can’t imagine how they stand the Scottish winter.” Somewhere on the level was the library, occupying much of the western corridor.

“By freezing, hopefully. They’re utterly unbearable,” Helen said. “Nearly as obnoxious as Aphrodite herself.”

Hermione smiled. “Don’t tell them that. I think they’d get worse.”

Helen wanted to dismiss the idea, but then she remembered the story about how for nearly all of the 19th Century that the Goddess of Love had only spoken French, at least until Ares claimed the great German statesman Bismarck as his child and let him invade France. Their relationship remained rocky until the First World War, after which Ares abandoned the Germans in favor of America, where the gods had been for over a century. _Sometimes I forget how strange and complicated the politics of the gods get._

“You’re thinking about some godly business, aren’t you?” Hermione asked. The girl grinned. “Oh don’t try and argue. You get this look of homesickness whenever you do, even if it’s something stupid like their petty spats or your stories of Artemis turning lost mortals into jackalopes.”

“I will have you know that jackalopes are a most handsome of beasts,” Helen declared. The girls reached the library, where Madam Pince gave them a curt nod before turning onto a couple nervous first years trying to check out a book. They made their way towards the far wall where natural light came in through the only set of stained glass in the castle, a gift from Helga Hufflepuff’s descendants when the Library was expanded. Hermione frowned at the fact most of the tables were occupied, but they found Harry and Neville at one near the short wood wall barricading the Restricted Section from the rest.

“I hear you’re friendly with Cedric Diggory, brother. Has he figured out his egg yet?” Helen asked as they sat down. Harry paused, unable to hide that he knew something. After a few moments, he sighed.

“The egg sings underwater.”

Helen blinked. “Sings? Really? Do you know what it, uh, sings?”

Harry coughed, blushing furiously, and then, in a low yet solid tenor, sang:

_“Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_“We cannot sing above the ground,_

_“And while you're searching, ponder this;_

_“We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_“An hour long you'll have to look,_

_“And recover what we took,_

_“But past an hour — the prospect's black,_

_“Too late, it's gone, it won't come back._ _”_

****

“Explains why Krum is swimming in the Lake,” Helen said as Hermione asked, “What do they mean by something ‘you’ll sorely miss’?”

Harry shrugged.

“Means I’ll have to rescue someone,” Helen said, frowning. She turned to Neville, whom she generally ignored. He was an odd boy, nervous and a little chubby. Surprisingly, he was one of a few boys the Hunters were willing to deal with, if only for the fact he was more often a flushed, stuttering mess around them and they found his reaction hilarious. She would bet in a few years, however, he’d come into his own and be as courageous as any hero. _And he makes for a better friend than Weasley._ “I hear you’re good at Herbology. Do you know of any weeds that can help someone survive underwater?”

Neville blinked, frowned, and then reached into his bag on the ground. He pulled out a book in decent leather bindings. “Professor Moody gave me this book back in September when he showed us the Unforgivables.” Helen spotted the title upon the spin. _Magical Mediterranean Water-Plants and Their Properties_. He began to flip through it until he was around halfway. He set the opened book on the table and laid it before Helen. “It has a few pages on gillyweed, which gives amphibian features to anyone who consumes it. Flippers, gills, the like.”

“Visit Poseidon with weeds,” she muttered, loud enough for the others to hear. They all frowned and Helen added, “Uncle Apollo came to visit after the Wand Weighing Ceremony. He gave me hints for the Tournament, a prophecy of sorts. Gillyweed matches his words on the Second Task, assuming each line of his haiku fits each task.”

“Haikus again?” Harry asked, to Hermione’s bemusement. She had gotten her cache of Greek mythology from home and had proceeded to question Zoë and Rhanis on various stories, mostly to see if they knew a wide variety of notable figures. The annotated books were a tribute to her pursuit of knowledge and could make Athena herself jealous. She had also gotten confirmation she’d been named for the Shakespearean Hermione, which disappointed most of the Hunters. She had found Apollo’s preference for haikus to be hilarious though, even if she continued to claim that divination of all types was a ‘wooly subject’ and when she learned how the Big Three stopped having children after the Great Prophecy, determined they were idiots sowing their own destruction.

“Unfortunately,” Helen said. “At least they aren’t sonnets. Uncle was big on those for around seventy years, though he didn’t start using them until Shakespeare was dead.”

“Was Shakespeare a, well,” Hermione started. Helen nodded, though she doubted the bushy-haired girl would think to ask whose godly parent Shakespeare had. _If she thinks he was Apollo’s and not Hermes’, who am I to correct her?_

“Back to the matter at hand,” Helen said before Hermione could go off on a tangent. She turned back to Neville, who was clearly confused yet didn’t seem to be anywhere close to actually asking them what they meant. Clearly, the boy hadn’t gotten the memo about the gods or was grossly ignorant on the matter. “How would one go about acquiring gillyweed?”

“You’d need to purchase it, though I don’t know if you could get it before the Task,” Neville said, frowning. “It takes about three weeks to send the order down to Venice, for them to sort out the amount you need, and then send it back through the Ministry Customs. And, well…”

“The Ministry might not allow you to import gillyweed,” Hermione finished, frowning. “You could check with Professor Snape. He should have the connections to get you enough for the Task.”

Helen pursed her lips, but it was the best option. Her human transfiguration might be excellent for her age, but doing it upon ones’ self was asking for trouble. Thus, she left the three to study switching spells while she descended into the dungeons. She wished she had Daphne with her if only to guide her through the labyrinth beneath Hogwarts.

“Are you searching for something?” a soft voice asked. She turned and came face to face with the sallow skin, large nose, and greasy hair of Professor Snape. Harry complained about the man enough that she had a good idea of his temperament.

_Which is utterly horrendous, apparently. While he accuses dad of being a bully, he acts like one himself._

“I was searching for you, actually,” Helen said. “I was curious if you have, say, an hours worth of gillyweed I could use. Or at least purchase.”

Snape stared at her, considering her request. Her silver eyes met his dark ones and there was a buzz of intrusion upon her mind. _Legilimency?_ As soon as it appeared, it drew back.

“Why would you need gillyweed?” Snape asked, suddenly edgy. _Occlumency in someone so young must make him nervous…_

“For the Second Task, sir,” Helen said. One of Snape’s eyebrows rose as if she’d said the stupidest thing he’d heard—and he had taught children for over a decade. “They’ll likely have us diving beneath the Black Lake and I’m not fond of the Bubblehead Charm.”

“You blew up your head into a ball, didn’t you?” the Professor asked, voice dripping in scathing sarcasm. “The mistake of a dunderhead, like your brother.”

“Something like that.” Hecate had howled with laughter when she had created a bubble not over her head, but inside of it. That bubble had been extraordinarily uncomfortable, though the belch that came out when it finally popped was spectacular.

Professor Snape stared at her down for another moment and then nodded. “Bring me five sickles the morning of the Second Task. I will have the gillyweed you need.” With that, Snape turned away and strode off as if he was Darth Vader off to kill an admiral.


	8. VIII

The morning of the Second Task was warm for late February. The Black Lake had thawed enough that the ice threatening to sink the ship of Durmstrang had melted and cracked overnight. Helen marched down to the banks of the Lake, her purse five sickles lighter and an hour worth of gillyweed safely tucked away. Professor Snape had told her, after paying for the magical plant, to, “Only consume two-thirds of this. Should you need the full hour, finish it off. You seem like less a dunderhead compared to your brother, so perhaps you will return within your time limit.”

_What a pleasant man_ , she reflected with distaste.

“Ah, there you are Helen!” Ludo Bagman shouted. The man still wore his terrible yellow and black costume and she was tempted to ask if he were a bumblebee animagus. Given what she knew of animagi, it would match with everything she had come to assume about the man. Everyone, even Zoë, said he had been a Quidditch star. _Unless he played Keeper, he has clearly let himself go. Being that round would only serve to make blocking the rings easier._

“Yes, yes, I’m here,” she said, looking around for the other champions. Cedric and Krum stared at the Lake, though the Bulgarian looked like he was about to throw a tantrum for the history books. Fleur, in a first for any of the French magicals, displayed true emotion. Helen was disturbed by how disturbed the Beauxbatons Champion appeared.

Helen stared at the girl, ignoring Ludo’s preliminary rambling, and a horrifying fact struck her: veelas and merpeople—that had to be what made the horrendous sound—hated each other more than Greek and Roman demigods. If the merpeople in the Lake thought they could get away with it, they’d kill the veela champion. _Or worse, if what we must recover are hostages_.

“Can everyone hear me?” Ludo asked, his voice loud enough to be heard by Muggles in Glasgow. “Welcome to the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament! Someone precious to our champions has been stolen, taken down to the bottom of the Black Lake. Our Champions have an hour to retrieve and safely bring them back to the surface.”

All four champions approached the shoreline, tense and ready. Small waves brushed at Helen’s feet as she separated the gillyweed she would start with. As Ludo began to count down, she stuffed the last bit into a pouch in her body suit, a thick suit of silver that stretched from her neck to her shoulders and down to her knees, leaving her arms and calves bare. Zoë had given her the knife the Hesperides had received from Artemis upon joining the Hunt. It was strapped to her left thigh. A cannon boomed and they all moved forward. Helen shoved the gillyweed into her mouth, chewing at the slimy plant. The others had already disappeared into the water when she finally got the weed down.

“What is Helen Potter doing?” Ludo asked, his commentary reaching her as the magical plant took hold. She rushed forward, diving into the Lake, and water raced over the gills growing into her neck. They drew oxygen to relieve her lungs of their sudden struggle and she felt the other changes come upon. She reached forward with webbed hands and dove, the fins on her calves and feet driving her with a powerful grace. The chilly water turned lukewarm and her vision was nearly perfect. _I wonder if this is how diving is like for the children of Poseidon._

The dive to the merpeople village was short and uneventful. From the stories she’d been told, Helen had hoped to encounter the giant squid and discover if it was as friendly as everyone insisted. Colin, who continued to buzz around Harry like a nervous, hungry mosquito, had told her that his little brother had fallen into the Lake before the Sorting and had been lifted back into a boat by said squid.

As she approached the village, the song Harry had sung filled her ears. It was eerie, almost spectral, and Helen wondered if the village was to Atlantis as a rural town was to a big city. There was a prickling on her neck and she paused to look around for watching eyes. She continued on through the village, taking in the simple stone buildings that were practical over decorative. It was only when she reached the loudest of the singing that she came upon a magnificent sight.

A great gate with several soaring pillars—Corinthian in design and decoration—were raised high above four still bodies, floating in the water. Each was bound to the lake floor with sinewy rope and Helen gritted her teeth as she got close enough to see them.

While she barely knew Cho, the girl Cedric took to the Yule Ball, and little Gabriel Delacour, she was familiar with the other two hostages. Hermione, still dressed in her thick Hogwarts robes, had to be Krum’s hostage, for on the far end was her hostage to save. Harry looked cold and still, too much like a corpse for her liking. His hair, for the first time since meeting him, looked controlled and she wanted to smile at how his glasses glided along his nose as the water swept around him. Yet her veins pounded with roiling fury.

_I shouldn’t be surprised they kidnapped people and stuck them at the bottom of the lake. From what I have learned, this was clearly designed by someone from the British Ministry. Though I wonder if they would do this task the same if they had known my brother would be down here as a hostage._

A dozen merpeople guarded the hostages, drifting about with sharp tridents, ready to spear the champions—and the little veela girl, too. Helen approached them, watching for a hint of aggression. She swam past them, wary of the two nearest her, and reached Harry. She waited until it was clear they would ignore her and then drew the knife and sliced the rope. Harry drifted up until she could firmly grasp the rope he was bound with.

As she made her way away from the village, she spotted first Krum, who had transfigured his head and neck into that of a shark’s, and then Cedric, who’d performed the Bubble-Head Charm, heading for the village. There was no sign of Fleur.

Some thirty or so minutes after diving into the water, Helen Potter emerged. She kept her neck under, pulling Harry up. When his head broke the surface, he gasped in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

“Helen, thanks for getting me,” he said, still pale. He shivered. “The Lake is bloody cold. Let’s get out.”

She nodded and supported him as they swam to the shore. They stepped out of the lake to thunderous applause. A bubble of water remained around her neck, waiting for the gillyweed to run its course. Madam Pomphrey descended upon them in a flutter, wrapping them in warm, thick towels. Helen pulled her’s tight around her body and watched for the others. Soon enough, Krum and Hermione emerged. The Bulgarian returned to his normal self and smiled at Hermione as the two came to join Harry and her, waiting for the rest.

“Oh, that was rather dreadful,” said Hermione to Helen. Krum said something to her, soft and quiet, and the muggleborn girl turned away to speak with him.

“I think you’re the favorite to win now,” Harry said, standing beside his sister. He glanced at her. “How did you get the gillyweed? I can’t imagine Snape actually giving you some.”

“I did get it from _Professor_ Snape,” Helen said. “But I had to pay for it.” Her brother scowled; displeased she had paid his least favorite professor.

“You know,” he began, staring at the calm surface of the Black Lake. “I was wondering if I could visit you in America. After this is all over.”

Helen turned to him, shocked. “Really? You wish to visit?” He nodded and she grinned. “That would be amazing. I think you could pass through the boundary at Camp Half-Blood, though I should check with mother first. From what I have heard of Camp, I think you’d like it. Zoë was right when she said you were like a hero of legend. Plus, I have always wanted to meet Chiron.”

“Chiron, as _the_ Chiron? He’s still alive?” Harry asked. “I thought centaurs only lived a few centuries if that.”

“The gods made him immortal so he could continue to train heroes,” Helen said. They paused to watch Cedric and Cho surface. At some point, Fleur had emerged from another tent, a towel wrapped around her while she stared at the Lake with utter terror.

“And with that, the Second Task is over!” Ludo Bagman declared. “Fear not, though, for the Beauxbatons Champion’s hostage shall be safely returned.” And, to Helen’s great shock, the little girl was safely delivered to the surface. She rushed to her sister, babbling in French while glaring at the Lake. The merpeople, clearly unhappy letting the girl go, turned to speak with Dumbledore. After five or so minutes, they departed and Dumbledore made his way to the other judges.

He brought the comments from the merpeople and after a couple heated minutes of deliberation, Ludo announced their decision. “The first to return was Fleur Delacour, Champion of Beauxbatons.” Helen raised an eyebrow. She didn’t remember seeing the French girl when they emerged, but the part Veela must’ve remained in the tent until the end. “While she showed excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, her failure to reach her hostage means that she failed the Task. The judges have decided to award her with 15 points.”

The French onlookers muttered. Helen wished she knew French if only to know what terrible things were being said about Bagman, or whoever was putting on this insulting spectacle. “Next to return was Helen Potter, with her hostage. She used gillyweed to not only reach her hostage first but also bring him back within the time limit. She is granted a full 50 points.” A mix of the Hunters, Gryffindors, and Ravenclaws roared their approval with polite applause from the rest of the Hogwarts students. Bagman gave points to Diggory and Krum, but Helen didn’t hear it over the echoing roar of cheers in her ears.

_Two Tasks down, one to go._


	9. IX

Three days after the Second Task, the newest Rita Skeeter article was released. Helen had taken one look at the article and sneered, disgusted by the tripe being printed. She scanned the Great Hall, curious how the students would react. While some frowned at the article upon the newspaper’s front, many read it with moving lips, and she could tell they were shocked by the words. Some appeared convinced of what was printed as if Skeeter’s words contained unquestioned veracity or confirmed what they already knew. As much as she wanted to be shocked by their idiocy, few gods had something good to say about the societies of Hecate’s magicals. _“Idiots, the lot,”_ Ares had said the one time she met him. He was right.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, suddenly sitting down. Helen tried to shift the paper away, but the bushy hair girl snagged it and looked at the front page. She as Hermione read the article, a second, and then her face flushed with fury. “That utter _cow_!” she hissed.

“Not the word I’d use, but it’s good enough,” Helen said. Hermione scowled, muttering something about _research_ and _libel_ , and pushed the paper away. She grabbed a couple slices of toast and left in a huff, tearing into the bread as she departed for the library. Helen almost worried about the law books, if only due to her doubts Magical Britain would allow something like the newest article to be published while having laws about slander and libel. A hundred eyes followed Hermione depart and by the time breakfast ended, the rumors spawned from Skeeter’s article spread like the plague.

Harry came to confront her at lunch, simmering with anger. “What has Hermione frightening Seventh Year Ravenclaws? I heard you said something to her this morning, but she nearly took my head off when I tried to ask her.”

Helen sighed and found a copy of _The Daily Prophet._ She slid it to her brother. “She saw the headline article. Might as well read it.” He sat down, frowning at as he read Skeeter’s article:

_SNARING THE BOY-WHO-LIVED: IS OUR HERO SAFE?_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Special Correspondent_

_‘As my readers know, the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament was held just a few short days ago. While many celebrated a second victory for Helen Potter, who used gillyweed to great effect, many were unaware of the words whispered between her and her brother, our dear savior Harry Potter, who had been used as her hostage for the Task. He was invited by his sister to leave Britain and visit her—and the vile cult that has taken her away from us—in America. More worrisome is where she wished to take him. It is mysterious, and I fear disturbing, this place called_ Camp Halfblood _._

_‘Some of you may not see a reason to be concerned or even worried about a place using that name, but I must impress upon you, my faithful readers, just why that name is of great concern. It has been long known that breeding with muggles and muggleborns has weakened the magical power of many notable bloodlines, including the Potters. While James and Lily Potter are celebrated for standing against You-Know-Who and the sacrifice that protected their son on that Halloween, their marriage was a grand scandal at the time. A time, I hope you all remember, when marriages between purebloods and muggleborns had reached a historic low since records of blood statuses for marriages were first kept in the late 17 th Century. To think, that a place exists in America—a country known world over for discouraging the breeding with and mingling with muggles—where children are brainwashed to believe that being a halfblood is something desirable!_

_‘“Oh, but I’m a halfblood, Miss Skeeter,” I hear some of my readers say, writing scornful letters to my kind editor who does not deserve your anger. Do not fear, dear readers. I only pity the fact that you are not a pureblood, capable of tracing your magical lineage back through the generations without stumbling upon an ignorant muggle. These are the same muggles who burnt witches and wizards upon the stake, the ones who drowned and stoned us for the crime of existing! You have done nothing wrong in being born how you are, but to promote breeding with muggles so more of us are halfbloods is to spit upon the long history of oppression and persecution at the hands of muggles._

_‘So I call upon my readers to protect our hero. We must keep him here in Britain, where he can become a proper wizard of power and standing. We must resist all attempts by his sister—and the cult that holds both her and many of our daughters in its foul grasp—to steal him away to a land beyond Britain and poison him against our precious and historically rich way of life._

_‘For more on Harry Potter, see pages 3 and 4. For more on Helen Potter, see page 5. For more on the American ‘Greek’ cult, see pages 6, 11, and 17.’_

Harry the paper pushed away with a long sigh, eyes tight as he grimaced. “I shouldn’t be surprised she’d write a vicious article, but this? Nobody, not even Hermione and Ron, knows about our conversation.”

“You didn’t tell them?” Helen asked, surprised.

“It was just between the two of us,” Harry said with a shrug.

“Well, it isn’t the only foul article she wrote,” said Helen. Harry turned back to the paper and soon found a second article about the Second Task, and more importantly about Hermione, Krum, and him. “Bloody hell, what is she writing about? Hermione is my friend. She’s, well, like a sister, I guess.”

“Oh?” Helen teased, leaning to grin at Harry’s flushing face. “Do tell me more.”

“I, uh, think I have a class to go to,” Harry said as he stood and left the Great Hall. Helen shook her head, watching him depart. _Too easy to tease._


	10. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An interlude before the end. Only three chapters left.

It was in early April that Helen finally received a note about the Final Task. At a quarter to four, she headed from the Hunter camp to the Quidditch Pitch on the far end of the grounds. She had visited the Pitch once with Harry back in November, a few days after the First Task. He had shown her his broomstick, a Firebolt. It was one of the top brooms in the world, he had said with a fond smile. She’d ridden the racing broom and, for as exhilarating it was, found herself awfully queasy. More so, a sudden case of acrophobia struck her around hundred-fifty feet above ground. While Harry just shrugged his shoulders, she blamed the incident on her grandfather Zeus. The god seemed to still be jealous of his region of influence, even if her brother was given leave to trespass as he wished.

_He must like Harry more then,_ she decided. _The scar upon his forehead is similar enough to the Master Bolt that many in the Greek world would think him a son of Zeus at first glance. Would the fear of heights fade if I exposed my own scar?_

She strolled across the grounds towards the Pitch, taking in how the emergence of a warm sun and a mild spring breeze drew the students of Hogwarts from their common rooms, and for those few in blue, the library. A group of giggling children raced past, their robes lined in red and gold. She rolled her eyes at the energy of the young Gryffindors as she passed through an open passage onto the ground level of the Pitch.

As always, she was the last to arrive. Cedric Diggory was scowling at the ground before them and she couldn’t blame him. The grass and sand pits she had seen in November had been removed, replaced with small bushes growing in dirt. Even Krum, who had never played a game at Hogwarts, appeared to be outraged by the ongoing transformation. Helen looked around at the patterns the bushes formed and she nearly groaned.

“Is the Third Task really a labyrinth?” she asked. Ludo Bagman, who had been about to speak, sighed.

“Well, we were thinking more a maze… I was going to ask what you thought we were doing to the Quidditch Pitch, but you just had to jump the kick-off.” He noticed the concern on Cedric Diggory’s face and continued. “Don’t worry, we’ll have your pitch returned to normal by next September. Once the night of the Third Task comes about, these shrubs you see will be ten feet, according to Professor Sprout. Hagrid will be providing some of the obstacles you’ll face during the Task while teachers from all three schools will be adding magical traps and trickery to block your path.”

“So how do we win?” Krum asked with arms crossed over his chest.

“Of course, of course,” Bagman said, grinning. “Great question, Mr. Krum. The victor of both this task and the entire Tournament will be the first to reach the Triwizard Cup at the maze’s center. You’ll be sent in based upon points, so Miss Potter will go first, followed by Mister Krum, Mister Diggory, and lastly Miss Delacour. The Third Task will be on 22nd of June. If you have any other questions, ask now. Otherwise, I will see you then!”

The champions remained quiet, which was enough to send Bagman on his way, giving them a wink and a nod. Helen watched the man depart, followed by Diggory and Delacour. They had both waited long enough to avoid the man and kept far enough apart casual watchers wouldn’t think them together.

“Strange man, that Bagman,” Krum remarked, approaching Helen. “I wish to speak with you.”

“About Hermione?” Helen asked. Krum nodded and she shook her head. “Best to go to Harry about whatever it is. Trust me when I say he’s closer to her than me. Like a brother, you could say.”

It seemed to be enough to pacify Krum. They headed to the castle, discussing what they thought might fill the maze during the final task. Neither was aware of the dark tidings occurring that afternoon at Hogwarts, or the dark cloud hanging above England.


	11. XI

“Lady Artemis will be arriving soon.” Helen blinked, turning towards Zoë with a frown. _Mother…is coming here?_ “Today is the Final Task, and I have been told tradition is for Champions to spend the day with family. The Hunt in full will be coming to meet their newest sisters. Do not worry for thou will have time with her alone.”

Helen nodded, returning to her small breakfast. It was near the end of June and tonight would likely be her last in Britain. The maze within the Quidditch Pitch had to be ten feet tall as Bagman had said. She was uncertain about what manner of traps and creatures were being stuffed into the labyrinth, but she had developed a crafty plan to make her hunt a success.

The camp the Hunters had been using since November was gone, broken down to several tents stuffed into bags with space expansion charms. The fire pits and every other bit of evidence they’d been there had vanished, erased as if they’d never been there. The magical Hunters were gathered near a series of rocks halfway between Hagrid’s Cabin and the rickety West Causeway Bridge.

“When will she get here?” Helen asked upon finishing her breakfast.

“Soon?” Zoë said, uncertain. “The Headmaster was unclea—” She stopped, eyes wide, as the soft chime of silver bells reached them. They turned and watched as Lady Artemis appeared upon her sleigh. It was tied to the moon, for it was once the domain of Selene. Helen pulled her eyes away from her mother and saw the moon in the blue day sky.

“Lady Artemis,” Zoë said, kneeling. The other Hunters, both those who’d come with their Lady and the magical recruits, followed. Only Helen remained upon her feet.

“Please stand, Zoë,” Artemis said with a fond smile. “You have done well as my lieutenant, though I wish to look upon my daughter without the bowing and scraping my father insists I demand of my Hunt.”

“I have missed you,” Helen said. She started forward, pulling back the tears threatening to slide down her face. There was a slight moment of hesitation and then they crashed into a hug, tight and warm.

“I have missed you too, my daughter.”

Helen imagined it looked a little odd, for two girls to be hugging and the younger to claim to be the elder’s mother. Either way, she cared not. Her mother, Artemis, was here with her at Hogwarts.

_I should introduce her to Harry and Hermione, and perhaps even Neville. And then show her the Great Hall and the expansive library, the towers and bridges and staircases with trick stairs. Maybe even the mysterious room where I spoke with Uncle Apollo all of those months ago. The months before Python and the Yule Ball, and the nastiness of Rita Skeeter’s articles._

“Now, what do you plan to do about tonight’s task?” Artemis asked and Helen gave a fond shake of her head before launching into what she knew and suspected of the maze and her plan that infuriated her stubborn Gryffindor of a brother.

The evening came quickly and Helen made her way down to the Quidditch Pitch. She went alone, dressed in clothes her mother had brought. New boots and jeans, designed to better handle battle with durability and elasticity; the orange shirt of Camp Half-Blood—

_“I’m not even a camper,” Helen said, smiling at the bright shirt._

_Artemis grinned, insisting, “Wear it. Chiron wishes you to come by this summer and I am in agreement. He thought it…fitting you wear it as you finish your first quest.”_

—And leather and celestial bronze armor. Gauntlets and grieves, light armor to protect her shoulders and chest. Her wand rested in the right gauntlet, ready to slip into her hand in a moment and her horn rested at her hip. _If I am to finish my quest, I must be prepared as if I was on a quest with other demigods._

As before, the other champions were waiting for her on the ground of the Quidditch Pitch. The maze they were warned of some two months past loomed over them, dark and threatening. They all wore the same school colored jerseys they’d favored for the First Task. Helen was tempted to tease Cedric over how he looked like a young, skinny Bagman when said man’s voice boomed across the stadium.

“Welcome all, to the Third and Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament!” A crowd, one she couldn’t see with the hedges around them, roared. “Our Champions have a simple goal: reach the Triwizard Cup. It was placed at the center of the maze earlier today, but for them to reach it they’ll need to face many magical threats.

“The Champions will be entering by the current ranking. The lovely Helen Potter will enter first, followed by Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts, Victor Krum of Durmstrang, and lastly Fleur Delacour of Beauxbatons.”

“You ready, girl?” Mad-Eye Moody hissed. Helen turned to the strange old auror and nodded. The man, with his blue magical eye whirling about, made her nervous. Her Hogwarts friends spoke highly of him, though Hermione admitted doubts about the class where they had the Imperius cast upon them. She was guided to the entrance to the maze, an unremarkable opening in the looming wall of shrubbery. There was little time to calm her racing heart, for a cannon boomed and she was sent in.

Back in April, she had prodded Neville about magical and non-magical shrubs and their handling. In their research, he stumbled upon an interesting passage in _Growing Shrubs to Keep Magic In and Out_ that she was quick to copy:

 

_‘The Roman Fire spell (_ ignis romanicus _) is perfect for sculpting fancy shrubs, should one not wish to use other magical means to do so. However, the shrub will return to its previous state after some time, depending on power usage. Best to use this spell in conjunction with transfiguration.’_

That passage became the core of her strategy, and with Hermione discovering the Point Me spell in a small book on navigation charms curiously slipped in between several large volumes on point transfiguration, Helen had a simple and hopefully foolproof plan to reach the Cup first.

At the first intersection, she held her wand in her palm and said, “Point me.” Her wand spun and pointed northwest of her location. Helen spun the wand into a good grip and then cast, “Ignis romanicus,” in a soft voice. White flames leaped from her wand and she drew back the power until the initial gout was a beam of controlled fire. She seared an opening three feet squared in the shrub wall and pushed the sliced section forward until it fell out. She slipped through the opening and placed the cutaway block into place as the cannon boomed again.

_Diggory._

She continued on, cutting through the wall when necessary as she made her way northwest. About a minute and a half after Diggory started, the cannon boomed to announce that Krum was entering the maze. Helen overpowered a cutting curse to slice through the strange armored monstrosity bred by Hagrid, spilling its flaming orange entrails across the shrub wall she planned to pass through next. She raced through the opening, avoiding the burning orange fluids. There was a hissing sound nearby, so she walked until it faded and continued along her path northwest.

After cutting through several more shrubs and hearing the boom for the final champion to enter the maze, Helen paused to check the cup’s location. “Point me,” she muttered, watching the wand spin in her hand. It bounced from northwest to west, stopping on a spot closer to west than northwest. The indicated direction was close enough to the nearest corner that she decided to risk going around it instead of cutting through the shrubbery.

It proved a fruitful choice, for when Helen turned around the corner, her eyes fell upon the glimmering silver and crystal Triwizard Cup set upon a small marble pedestal in a clearing. She raced forward, ignoring all distractions, and snatched the cup. There was a moment of relief and joy over her victory, and then something magical latched onto her, like a hook behind her navel, and she was ripped away from the maze and Hogwarts.


	12. XII

Helen grunted when she landed on the hard ground. With the traveling skills of the gods, she was grossly unfamiliar with common magical transportation, among them portkeys. She stood, groaning, and looked around her surroundings. She held her wand tight, frowning at the strange environment. The cup, released from her grasp, rolled aside a few inches. It appeared she had been sent to a graveyard of sorts, with old tombstones and mossy ground. Far above was an old house, shadowing the graveyard and she couldn’t help but shiver. _Something is wrong_. She walked away from the cup, leaving it where it rested. Wand raised, ready to shift or cast, she started forward.

Several minutes passed of her wandering the graveyard, going row by row when she came upon a large cauldron above a roaring flame. Helen scanned the area around her and paused at a name on the largest gravestone—an angel of death.

TOM RIDDLE

_Shit!_ Helen knew that name from the ramblings of Hades Artemis told her and from Harry’s story of his second year. She started back for the cup, grabbing the horn at her hip and bringing it to her lips. With puffed cheeks, she blew a long note.

_Aawwweeeeeeeooooooooooo!_

She took in a deep breath, letting the horn’s magic reverberate, and blew again.

_Aawwweeeeeeeooooooooooo!_

Before she could blow it a third time, a squeaky voice called, “ _Stupefy_!”

Helen woke with a groan, her body stiff and awkwardly tied to the large gravestone. A huge snake, some twenty feet in length and thicker than her calf, slithered through the nearby grass. She looked around and saw that a pudgy man with a rat face was preparing a clear potion within the cauldron. Watching the man, something about his appearance and mannerisms suddenly felt familiar.

“You’re Wormtail,” Helen blurted. The rat animagus flinched at the nickname. “Harry told me about you. He told me that you betrayed our parents to Voldemort and framed Sirius Black for your crimes.” There was a loud hiss, rude and offended as if to make it clear she shouldn’t use _that_ name.

Wormtail proceeded to ignore her, finishing up whatever task he was busy with before picking up something she hadn’t noticed—a something that triggered a terrible burn in her shoulder. A snake-like child, swaddled like a newborn, rose from the ground. The animagus nervously eyed the child and then dropped it into the potion with a small splash.

“Let it drown,” Helen whispered, praying to Poseidon. She knew nothing good could come of the ritual being performed before her. There was a light breeze across the graveyard, yet it felt ominous and did not give her heart. _The gods won’t hear my prayers here. Fly, mother. Fly here and free your beloved daughter._

“Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son,” Wormtail intoned, cracking the grave beneath her with a flick of his wand. A long bone, likely from a man’s leg, emerged, floating, and crossed to the cauldron. It dropped into the potion and it turned a simmering shade of pale.

Wormtail put away his wand and drew a small knife with a silver blade. He held it beside his right wrist and held the hand over the cauldron. He cut it away with a hoarse scream and then continued, gasping through the pain. “Flesh of…of the servant…w-willingly given…you will revive…your master.”

The potion turned a dark, murky scarlet.

“Let me go!” Helen screamed, thrashing against her bonds. “Damn you, let me go!” Wormtail approached her, knife somehow cleaned, and cut into her right arm. Blood trickled onto the blade and he stumbled away, working to keep the drops from falling to the ground.

He flicked the blood into the cauldron, saying, “B-blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. You will resurrect your foe.”

The cauldron steamed, whatever dark magic practiced working. Helen didn’t watch, continuing to struggle against her bonds. She would hand it to Wormtail, for the ropes binding her were tougher than any mortal rope and had little give. As she prepared to tear at a single binding with all her strength, a soft, terrible voice snaked through the graveyard and froze her upon the gravestone. A voice she didn’t know but utterly terrified her with a horrible realization.

“Wormtail, robe me.”

Helen stiffly turned from her bonds, her shoulder throbbing something fierce, as a pale man with thin limbs and spindling fingers emerged from the cauldron. A simple black robe was set onto his shoulders, which he slowly pulled on and closed with small, silver buttons. The cauldron cracked, fell apart like petals falling from a flower, and sunk into the ground. Whether the cauldron was undone by the magical power of the monster before her or the dark magic performed within, she didn’t know. Yet all it seemed she could do at that moment was watch Voldemort reach out towards Wormtail.

“My wand,” he said, and took a long stick of yew. “Ah, it has been too long.”

“M-master,” Wormtail whimpered. Helen couldn’t help the disgust, the revulsion, knowing she’d been used— _violated_ —to return Voldemort to his physical body.

“Your arm, Wormtail,” Voldemort said. The pudgy man sighed—grateful—and held up the bloody stump. “The other one.” He squeaked, switching arms. The Dark Lord drew up the sleeve of Wormtail’s left arm, revealing a hideous black tattoo. A large snake slithered out of a skull, hissing across the animagus’ arm. It made what she had seen on Professor Snape’s arm months ago look like a normal tattoo, faded by age. Voldemort drove his yew wand into the mark, which flushed a pitch black, and Wormtail screamed as if the arm had been set on fire from within. Helen nearly did too, biting down on her inner cheeks to keep her mouth closed and tongue safe. Coppery blood spilled from a spot, but it was nothing compared to whatever was happening to her shoulder and the curse mark upon it. The shirt over it felt wet and she wondered if it had opened.

“Ah, our guest of honor for my resurrection,” Voldemort whispered, letting Wormtail’s arm drop. He must’ve noticed her pain, for he smiled a sardonic grin. It was all shining teeth, taking pleasure in her pain. “Before we speak, let me _reward_ my servant.” He grabbed the bloody arm of his follower, a rough, shaking movement, and conjured a hand of silver. “ _For your service_.” The animagus blubbered, thanking the Dark Lord, and fell to his knees to kiss the man’s robes.

“Up, Wormtail.” The pudgy man stood, still praising his lord who returned his hand. Voldemort turned to Helen. “Helen Potter. You rest above the grave of my filthy father. A _muggle_ who abandoned his pregnant wife after learning she was a witch. A witch in whose veins ran the noble blood of Salazar Slytherin himself! A fool, and for which I killed him. All the Riddles died by my hand and they were buried here, nobody knowing just who did the deed. Knowing who…ended them.

“But they matter not. My true family comes.” Voldemort strolled into a clear area of the graveyard, watching Wormtail scamper to some arranged point. She was just beyond the area but arranged on the gravestone so she faced the monster at the center. There were several pops and Helen watched as a dozen and some figures in dark hooded robes and pale masks appeared. The came forth in a circle, several spots open, absent of whomever once stood there. They all bowed, murmuring something Helen couldn’t hear.

“Thirteen years,” Voldemort began with a sinister smile. “Thirteen years since we last gathered and you come as if it was yesterday. I left you, thinking myself on the verge of victory. Instead, my power was destroyed and I forced into exile. For thirteen years I waited, waiting for one of my loyal to find me.

“I find myself…disappointed.”

_Gods_ , Helen thought. She could feel how disappointed the Dark Lord was and it was unsettling. Dark magic, sick and foul yet invisible to the naked eye, rolled off him in waves.

“I…I came back,” Wormtail stuttered. His eyes were fixed on the ground as he shook.

“You did,” Voldemort said, not bothering to turn to the simpering wizard. “But out of fear, not loyalty. Though, you have been repaid for your service. And for… _returning_.”

The Dark Lord scanned them in turn before settling upon one who was tall and lithe in the manner of an aristocrat. “Lucius, my slippery friend. I have heard of how you kept out of Azkaban, claiming I kept you under the Imperius. I suspect you will remain loyal this time. Though, it wasn’t all for naught. The Minister is in your pocket and you have great wealth and influence throughout our world. Yet you never came to find me.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Lucius said, falling to his knees. He kissed the hem of Voldemort’s robe and rose, head lowered. Long hair, pale blond, had split out.

_Malfoy?_ Helen wondered.

“If I had heard whispers,” he continued, “or seen a sign of your continued existence, I would have searched you out.”

“Yet you didn’t,” Voldemort said. Helen thought Voldemort would kill the man. “It is time to do better. Your influence will serve me well in the months to come.” The Dark Lord continued, working through the fathers of several boys she’d hexed and cursed. Crabbe, Goyle, Nott. He paused at a space enough for three people to lament, to her shock. “The Lestranges would stand here, but they suffer in Azkaban for their loyalty. Travers and Rockwood did so too. They will be freed soon enough and rewarded beyond measure for their loyalty.” He spoke of those who’d died and then came to an unsurprising moment. “There are three more missing. One betrayed me and has likely fled. He will be dealt with in time. A second, I do not know where his loyalty lies. Whether he is my spy or Dumbledore’s, I will learn soon enough. If he has betrayed me, he will suffer. The third though, he has already returned to my service. He is at Hogwarts. It was he who placed Helen Potter’s name into the Goblet of Fire. It is he that is responsible for our guest of honor for my return.”

Voldemort turned to her, grinning. It was a horrible expression, with the man’s pale skin, red eyes, and snake slit nose. She doubted the Furies looked as horrifying if they were to smile. The Death Eaters all looked to her, expressions hidden by their masks.

“Helen Potter, the girl who vanished without a trace. Your brother—the _Boy-Who-Lived_ —would have been here in your place, if I hadn’t desired to use your blood for my return. I long wondered why something felt different about you that night when my powers failed. I tried to kill your brother first, I will not deny. It was a mistake, for you are clearly the greater threat. Worse, your mother, the mudblood, prepared ancient magic—dark magic, some would say. It was magic I overlooked that fateful night. But I wonder…oh how I wonder _ed_ just what power you had I knew not.”

Helen kept her face impassive, for the frown she was wished to give would tell too much. _Does Voldemort know the prophecy?_ _Or does he guess, grasping for straws in the wind? Either way, I must stall. The Hunt comes and I do them no good dead._

“You speak as if you know why I was different. Why I _am_ different.”

Voldemort laughed, his Death Eaters joining in, though theirs was hesitant, confused. They didn’t know why their lord laughed, but they clearly weren’t going to do something to offend him. “I figured you out, thanks to a foolish Greek wizard drunk on stories of glory and heroism. It was easy, shockingly so, to get the truth from him as I possessed another. I couldn’t believe it at first, but I soon discovered he told the truth.

“You, Helen Alexandria Potter, are a demigod, a child of the Olympians, walking the line between the mortal and immortal worlds. I can feel it in my veins. Those godly ichors in your blood, gold and powerful, they flow in mine, thanks to you. The power, the strength, the _magic_. When I realized this truth, I knew I needed to use your blood for my triumphant return. It should even get me past the magical defenses that protected your brother from me when I come for him. They thwarted me once. They will not do so again.”

There was a hush as the graveyard was filled with shuffling sounds. The Death Eaters looked around, confused. A few even drew wands, though they watched their lord in a manner that spoke of fear to Helen. Voldemort paused, eyes narrow as he drew back from speaking with her, and looked around.

“Someone is here,” he said, cold and tense. Red eyes scanned the dark graveyard around them. “Find the intruder and bring them before me. Alive or dead, it matters not.”

The Death Eaters nodded and turned to delve into the graveyard. As they all took their first step, the air filled with silver streaking arrows. They all flew true, piercing the flesh of dark witches and wizards. One struck Lucius Malfoy in the back of the head, plunging out an eye to reveal the bloody gore within. He collapsed, little more than a marionette with his string cut. It was over as it begun, with little more than shuffling.

Only Voldemort stood, untouched.

“Monster, false immortal, coward and fool.” Helen grinned as Artemis stepped into the clearing. She was not the child she usually appeared as, but a tall Greek woman with olive skin and dusky hair. Her eyes glowed silver and pulsed in the night as the moon peered through the clouds above. A majestic robe adorned her body, a tribute to the women of Corinth and Athens, Delos, Sparta, and a dozen other cities. The entire Hunt was there, both veterans and newcomer witches in their silver parkas. Their bows were nocked, yet held low and undrawn. “I came to find my daughter, yet behold what I have found. My uncle shall owe me a king’s ransom for handing you over to him. Long has he raged about you and how you insult him, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Voldemort sneered. “Girls with bows. Silver eyes. You are Artemis, Goddess of virgins and beasts, little more than daddy’s favorite girl. When _Athena_ isn’t his focus, that is. Take your daughter and leave, then. You have violated the Ancient Laws coming here tonight. Dare to interfere in my business again and I will see Kronos rise to tear Olympus down.” The graveyard went cold and the Hunters all flinched. A few went to raise their bows but held steady when Artemis stopped them.

“Tell me, daughter,” Artemis said, ignoring the insults and threats hurled at her. Zoë looked ready to draw bronze knives and stab Voldemort into a bloody mess. “What prophecy did my brother give you?”

Helen blinked, wondering where her mother was going with her question, but recited the haiku from November without question. The final line came from her mouth—“ _Touch the cup alone_ ”—and a thunderous realization struck her. She grinned triumphantly and watched her mother turn back to the Dark Lord.

“You heard the final line. My daughter has completed her quest so I can interfere. The prophecy that spoke of your vanquish came to pass that night you murdered the Potters. And for all you speak of the Ancient Laws, know that for the horrors and crimes you’ve committed, you are no mortal. You are a monster, a wild beast, and it is within my purview to slay wild beasts and monsters.”

Voldemort flicked his wand up as Artemis nocked and drew back a terrible looking arrow of stygian iron. As the Dark Lord screamed, “AVADA KEDAVRA,” she released the arrow. It raced across the distance between them and punched into Voldemort’s chest before the vile green light of the Killing Curse could leap from his yew wand to strike down a goddess. There was a moment as he stumbled, confused by the arrow piercing him. Then he screamed, a scream Helen believed straight from the Fields of Punishment, and then Voldemort, once Tom Marvolo Riddle, fell to the ground, dead.

“Is it over?” Helen asked once the graveyard fell silent. Her shoulder burned as if a barbed arrowhead was ripped out and then suddenly was relieved of pain beyond a bone-deep ache. Her shirt, however, was ruined. A horrid patch of black streamed down from the spot.

“Let us see,” Artemis said. There was a long moment where nothing happened, and then the great snake Helen had seen when she woke sprung forth to bite her mother. Before it could sink its fangs into the goddess, it burst into a giant blob of black gunk, a nasty reminder of the price paid to enact the worst and most vile magics. The gunk splashed onto the ground before her godly mother, who looked at it with relief. “It is done.”

Zoë appeared next to Helen and cut through the ropes binding her. “Impressive, for a mortal.”

Helen only nodded. Her eyes were everywhere except the bodies littering the graveyard. A few of the girls inspected the bodies and she noticed a deep scowl appear on Daphne’s face when they confirmed none of the dead were her father. _She thought her father one of them, then._

“Let us return to Hogwarts,” Artemis said. “To bring good news.” Helen nodded and the Hunt departed the graveyard near Riddle Manor in Little Hangleton. They raced like the wind, crossing the North of England, past Hadrian’s Wall and its ancient magical protections, through the lands of Scotland, and only stopped when they reached the shore of the Black Lake. Hogwarts sat on a cliff above the Lake, a towering monument to magic and power, aglow with more candles than stars in the sky that night.

The group made their way, calm as if marching to war until they reached the Quidditch Pitch where the maze and a great crowd waited for Helen. At least, most of the crowd was there. Helen frowned, seeing that a good chunk of the Gryffindor students had departed, her brother among them.

“There you are!” Ludo Bagman suddenly shouted, racing towards her. He frowned, scanning her. “Where’s the Triwizard Cup?”

“In a muggle graveyard,” Helen said. She turned from to a man she’d met only once. Cornelius Fudge left a poor impression upon her as Minister of Magic and she hoped he fell from power soon. “You will find some fifteen or sixteen Death Eaters in that graveyard, all dead. Among them, you’ll find Peter Pettigrew. Unfortunately, he’s dead, but I imagine the markings upon his left forearm will be enough to confirm the innocence of one Sirius Black.”

“Sirius Black is a—” the man started, but Helen turned away to a familiar old man in a robe she’d never seen before.

“Gods that is disgusting,” she said, staring at a moving blend of mauve, magenta, and teal. Dumbledore smiled as if she’d complimented his robes. “Where’s my brother?”

“He is in the Hospital Wing, I fear,” the Headmaster said. “A few minutes ago, his scar erupted, releasing a rather disgusting mess of liquid dark magic. It appears to have been a soul fragment. Curious, though I wonder more _why_ it left than how it got there.”

Helen’s stomach dropped and whatever hunger she may have built that night turned to ashes. “You should know what you saw was the destruction of a soul fragment belonging to Voldemort, who is being properly punished.”

“He is dead then?” Dumbledore asked, hopeful. Helen nodded and the old man beamed. “Well, my dear, I believe you should head up to see your brother. There is truly nothing like the love of family.” His eyes flickered over her shoulder. “I would like to speak with your mother while you’re…occupied.”

Helen nodded and headed up to the castle. Some announcement was made, one she ignored, and she followed a well-worn path to the castle. She made her way up a couple staircases, down a long hallway, and then left through a pair of large doors into the Hospital Wing. There she found Harry, lying on a bed, as he spoke in hushed tones with Hermione and Neville.

He glanced in her direction, blinked, and then shot her a tired smile. “Helen, you’re fine. I was worried when they couldn’t find you. And, well…”

“You look worse than me.” Helen suspected it wasn’t true, for she was dirty and had several scrapes and cuts that itched something fierce. _The shrubs weren’t the nicest things to slip past_ , she reckoned. “The Headmaster told me something _dark_ emerged from your scar.”

Harry scowled at the reminder and then asked, “You know anything about it?”

“Just that Voldemort is finally dead.” The way her brother went wide-eyed and mouth agape was hilarious. He then sprung from the bed and, with shocking strength, scooped her up in a hug. Helen laughed, hugging Harry back. It was an absolute shock, him hugging her, but it lit warmth within her only Artemis had ever drawn forth.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Madam Pomphrey shouted. Harry released her and returned to the bed, giving the mediwitch a smile seeming to beg for forgiveness. She checked him over, fussing over little things, and then turned hawkeyed upon her. “Do something to bother my patient again and I’ll throw you out, sister or not.”

Helen pouted but agreed if only to not earn the mediwitch’s wrath. The rest of the evening passed, speaking with her brother and his friends, and making those final memories of Hogwarts. The Hunters came and went, among them Daphne who spoke with Harry in private. Whatever there had been between them was ended, or at least Helen suspected.

The next morning, Helen joined the Hunters on the lawn of Hogwarts. While she was taking a copy of the Triwizard Cup with her (the Ministry of Magic was unwilling to admit why they couldn’t just give her the original, since a strange teenager in baggy clothes popped into the Quidditch Pitch about twenty-three minutes after the Hunt returned, thoroughly confused), she had given the grand prize of a thousand galleons to Harry. What he’d do with the money was up to him, but she hoped he would give it to someone deserving. Or the Weasley Twins, who were apparently growing into budding entrepreneurs, sellers of prank items to cause mayhem and mischief. _Note to self: never introduce them to children of Hermes. More likely to end the world than the Crooked One rising from Tartarus._

“Are you ready to leave?” Artemis asked. Helen turned to her mother and nodded. She had already said her goodbyes, even if they were only for a time. And so, the Hunters of Artemis departed Hogwarts as if they had never been there.

By some accounts, they never were.


	13. Nine Years Later

Manhattan was quiet. It unnerved Helen, who had grown used to the noisy, bustling city whenever away from the Hunt or Camp Half-Blood. She watched the demigods preparing their defenses—Percy Jackson, son of Poseidon and hero of the Great Prophecy, worked in tandem with Annabeth Chase, daughter of Athena, to organize their defenses. She knew Jackson some, for she had gone on that fateful quest west, to save her mother from the grasp of Atlas. She hadn’t made it to Mount Orthys, returning the Ophiotaurus to Camp. War had still come, and with it Morpheus’ power, which had swept across the urban island. Only those unaffected by the mist remained awake to repel Kronos and his terrible army.

“We’ll take it,” declared Thalia, daughter of Zeus and the newest lieutenant of the Hunt. When Zoë had passed, Helen had watched her mother grant the honor onto the demigod upon Mount Olympus, not for her loyalty and achievement to the Hunt, but to prevent the Great Prophecy from being fulfilled then, before Olympus was ready for war with their ancient enemy. Helen kept her silence, even if some part of her felt it should’ve been hers as the daughter of Artemis. She had grown through the years, to reach an age rare for a demigod. _Maybe I should have taken my mother’s offer of immortality all of those years ago. I would fit in better among the Hunters, at the very least._ She scanned her mother’s followers and looked upon the familiar faces: Rhanis, the last of the first sixty sworn to Artemis; Kassandra, who wore an eye patch to hide the carved mutilation done to her by a demigod a few months ago; Daphne, once Daphne Greengrass, still fourteen as she had been ten years ago when Helen made that fateful journey to Hogwarts.

That ancient castle was a fond memory for her now. Events in Magical Britain had calmed after the initial upset. Many of the Death Eaters slain in the graveyard near Little Hangleton were rich, respected businessmen and politicians, influencers of society who’d escaped imprisonment thanks to deep pockets. Their deaths had hollowed out their society, something that disturbed her upon discovery. Fortunately, the combined efforts of Dumbledore and her brother had prevented societal collapse. It had been years since the last letter from him, but then that had been around the time of the Lightning Thief incident and the Crooked One’s rise.

“Will you join us?” Thalia asked, drawing Helen away from warmer thoughts. The girl wore the silver parka of the Hunt, though there was a gold necklace with a celestial bronze lightning bolt around her neck. “I know that you wish to be with your mother, but…”

“But I am a powerful demigod and a symbol of her power in the field of battle,” Helen said, picking up on the girl’s thoughts. It was strange, knowing that some seven years ago, Thalia had been an angry, rebellious girl holding tight to the boy on the verge of destroying the world and a little girl connected to the hero they all expected to save Olympus. _Perhaps being a pine tree helped her grow up and her new friendships bound her tight to our cause_.

Helen smiled. “Let us head for wherever Waterboy wants us.”

Thalia snorted, grinning.

The Hunters made their way down 34th Street from the Empire State Building to the nearest route to the Lincoln Tunnel. _Well, tunnels_ , Helen reminded herself. She remembered fondly a summer at Camp Half-Blood, where little Annabeth Chase had gone on and on about the various tunnels and bridges into Manhattan. Whenever Helen came to visit Camp, the girl had insisted on a new book on architecture. Through the mess of facts, history, and architectural jargon, one major fact had stuck out about their destination: three tubes connected Midtown Manhattan to Hoboken, New Jersey. She knew that with nearly fifty girls, they’d be put under heavy pressure to hold the tunnels, should the enemy strike hard at this point. _We cannot block them, though, for they must be opened when the mortal world wakes._

“Any way to ask for help?” Daphne whispered to Helen as they passed Madison Square Gardens and Pennsylvania Station. “From Harry,” she added.

Helen turned to the girl, blinked, and then slapped herself. The other Hunters turned at the sound, staring shocked at her. “Ugh, I can’t believe I forgot about this,” she grumbled, digging around in her magically deep pockets before pulling out a dark, cracked stone Harry had sent for their seventeenth birthday. In the letter, he had given her a phrase, one to use should she need help.

“ _Peverell_ ,” Helen whispered to the stone. She waited a few moments, for nothing happened, and then she slid it into her pocket with a disappointed shrug.

“Nothing?” Daphne asked as the other girls realized what she had been doing.

“Afraid not,” Helen said. She approached Thalia, who watched her curiously. The lightning girl had yet to grow accustomed to the existence of witchy magic. “There will be no support from the British magicals. We should hurry. The enemy will strike soon.”

The daughter of Zeus nodded. They raced on and soon reached the three tubes. Thalia was beginning to split them up when the air was filled with a series of echoing pops. The Hunters turned, arrows nocked and drawn.

A young man in red robes with messy hair held up his hands. He wore simple glasses that obscured vivid emerald eyes. Helen’s eyes flicked to his forehead and she grinned at the faded scar she shared with her twin. It was now a healthy pale instead of the bloody jagged mark he had years ago.

“I feared your little gift had failed, brother.” She strode away from the Hunters, all lowering their bows, and hugged Harry. He grinned, pulling her in tight.

“I had thought you’d never call, Helen.” He pushed her back and scanned her, his green eyes bouncing to the other girls. “You don’t look fourteen. I feared you would.”

“Don’t tell that to Daphne,” Helen mocked. A wry smile—one of opportunities lost and gained—crossed Harry’s face, but he shook it away.

“Well, I brought who I could. You have a dozen aurors and twice as many hitwizards, along with several of Britain’s best duelers. Good thing you picked summer to ask for help, or we’d be short a few wands.” Helen nodded, looking past Harry at the magicals he had brought. Among those in red robes like Harry, she only recognized the obnoxious boy with red hair. He had been scarce during that year, if only for how the Hunters worked to separate him from Harry and Hermione. None of the hitwizards were familiar, though she did spot both Hermione and Neville among the others gathered. There also was Professor Snape, the sallow man who sold her an hour worth of gillyweed, Professor McGonagall, who she had clashed with before the Yule Ball, and Sirius Black, her brother’s godfather she preferred as a dog.

“I see the Headmaster isn’t here,” Helen said. “Too old?”

Harry shook his head. “No, problems further west. New Rome is being attacked too, so he went to aid them. My heart nearly stopped, seeing him in regular purple robes with goblin steel armor.” Helen blinked, unable to imagine what that would look like. Dumbledore had worn only the most garish and colorful of robes during her year abroad. “But enough about the old man. What’s going on?”

“The Crooked One marches on Olympus,” Helen said. Harry scowled, gesturing for Hermione to join them. Thalia picked up on the movement and the four of them stood together. “He has an army of monsters and demigods. We’ve been assigned to hold the Lincoln Tunnel.” She turned them so they could stare at the Empire State Building. “We must prevent them from reaching there. Olympus sits above and should he reach it…”

“The end of Western Civilization,” Hermione whispered. Her bushy hair was drawn back into a long, thick braid. “What should we know about the enemy?”

“They’ll resist most weak spells. Some monsters will even resist some of the stronger ones, too. This fight will be difficult, bloody. Too many good people will die today.”

Harry gave her an odd look. “That’s how war is.”

As Helen feared, the fighting was bloody and brutal. She could feel it, almost like a twinge in the back of her mind, whenever a Hunter fell to enemy blades. The army of monsters they faced seemed to never end, and Helen wished that monster corpses didn’t disappear in gold mist. _We could’ve plugged the tunnels with how many we’ve cut and shot down_. However, the arrival of her brother and the other magicals of Britain was enough to hold the line. Large, stone wolves moved in and out of the monster lines, slicing through like a scythe through wheat. Lights of red and green, yellow and purple, and a few shades of blue leapt from wands to slice through monsters, tearing away their shields and scaring their faces. One, a traitorous demigod mixed into the force, was hit by a flash of yellow, tripped over his feet, and impaled himself upon an ally’s weapon.

The battle began to slow. The waves of monsters thinned, decreased in frequency, and enemy demigods stopped appearing entirely. It seemed to be midday or midnight—she wasn’t sure—when the last monster was slain, disappearing into gold dust.

“Bloody hell,” an auror mumbled, looking around. There were twenty or so bodies lying around. Several were Hunters, their bodies slashed and stabbed, pierced by arrows and one even burnt with a poisonous green acid. The others, however, were magicals. Three were in the same red robes as Harry, though Helen was relieved to see he was hale and healthy, not even limping as he scanned the bodies.

Then Helen recognized a face on a young man dressed in simple brown robes. Colin Creevey, the amusing boy half in love with her brother that had accompanied her to the Yule Ball, was dead. His eyes, like all the dead, were glassy and empty. His face looked almost peaceful and there were several burns around him.

“I saw him fighting a group of dracaenae,” Helen said, both to herself and anyone who’d hear. “I…I thought he could handle them. I…I was…”

Harry pulled her into a hug and she cried into his arm. She had barely known the boy a day, yet she shed more tears for him than she did for every one of her fallen sisters, the girls sworn to her mother for eternity.

“He insisted on coming, even with the risk,” Harry whispered. “He would not sit back when someone important to him fought for their life.”

“I…I barely knew him,” Helen admitted. “I can’t believe I had such an impact upon him.”

“It was enough for him to come fight side by side with people he didn’t know.” Helen pushed away and wished her distress wasn’t reflected in Harry’s eyes. “I should have left him behind. He had a good life, both in our world and the muggle one. He was…happy, even found someone he loved.”

A great horn blew and they pushed back tears, drying eyes and drawing back their sorrow. _The battle isn’t over? What has happened?_ Helen frowned, especially as Thalia shouted, “To Olympus! We must return to Olympus!” The Hunters and the magicals were forced to leave their dead and race across 34th Street to the Empire State Building, where the battered and bloody remnants of the Camp Half-Blood defenders were gathering. Cabin Five, the Children of Ares, had arrived, though they looked rather disgruntled and were cleaner than everyone else.

“You get your head out of your ass, Clarisse?” Thalia taunted as the burly daughter of Ares stormed away from speaking with Percy Jackson. There was something…odd in his eyes. It was a sorrow not born from dead friends, but a greater burden. _The end draws near._

“Leave me alone, Grace,” the burly girl growled. Clarisse held a sparking spear tightly in her hand. “I don’t have time for your manner-less antics.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” Thalia shot back. “Oh, and call me _Grace_ again and I’ll shock you worse than your spear could ever hope.”

“Are they always like this?” Harry whispered to Helen. She nodded and that was enough to bring everyone’s attention to the wizard beside her.

“Who’s this?” Percy asked, charging forward. The almost sixteen year old did his best to glare at Harry, who only smiled down with amusement.

“My twin brother who _isn’t_ a demigod,” Helen said. “It’s complicated, but what you need to know is he brought reinforcements. A friend of his died”

Percy’s scowl was tempered by the news of an outsider’s death. He eventually said, “Fine, whatever. Luke is almost here and there’s less than an hour until midnight.” _Until the prophecy is fulfilled_ went unspoken.

Helen nodded and looked around at the bruised and bloody demigods. They were all younger than her, and some were more child than adult. “The war will be over soon,” she said, drawing eyes. “The war will be over, for good or ill. I hate to say it, but I fear we have to let the traitor Luke pass through our lines.” She turned to Percy Jackson, who frowned yet wasn’t protesting her words. “You have a prophecy to fulfill, one that has hung over the Gods and their children for over fifty years. Your choice—your decision—will determine the fate of Olympus, and my instincts say that Luke must be there at the end. I trust you to make the right choice, Perseus Jackson. Our fate lies with you.”

He nodded, a great determination in his eyes.

In the coming days, as they handled their dead and Helen saw off the British magicals with their own dead, she would realize how accurate she’d been in that moment. Luke had gotten through, just as she expected—as she had, more or less, ordered the demigod army that held the threshold into Olympus until near the bitter end. Yet what she hadn’t expected was the following events as they fought. Kronos taking over Luke, Percy handing Luke a cursed knife—one that had belonged to the man when he’d been an angry boy newly arrived at Camp Half-Blood—that he used to slay Kronos within his body. The prophecy had been fulfilled.

And to repay them, a few heroes were granted boons from the gods. Percy used the offer of immortality to improve relations between demigods and their godly parents, though Helen doubted anything would truly change as long as the Ancient Laws existed. Annabeth was granted the honor of designing the new Olympus, in need of reconstruction after the war’s violent conclusion. Grover Underwood, the satyr who was with Percy and Annabeth through much of the war’s biggest moments, was off to find Pan. And she? She got to see her brother Harry draw Artemis into a swinging hug. Apollo was likely spreading images of the moment, especially the moment when Artemis had faintly smiled when Harry called her _mother_.

She strolled down the magical concourse of JFK International with her brother. He was the last to take an international portkey back to Britain, with his destination being the magical concourse of London-Heathrow. “When will I see you next?” Harry asked.

“I cannot say,” Helen said. “For now, the Heart of the West remains in America. It may change in the years to come, or perhaps a threat will arise in the ancient lands of Olympus.” They reached the portkey chamber, where a long piece of rope waited for the 11:27 departure. There was a pause, as Harry turned to face her. “I will let you know if something happens, brother.”

“Good,” Harry said, smiling. “Let me know if there’s another war. I’ll come fight with you, no matter when or where, sister.”

“I will hold you to that,” Helen said. She watched as her brother disappeared. “I will hold you to that, brother.”


End file.
